Make Us Worthy
by fagur fiskur
Summary: A 30 day challenge for Dean/Cas / Expert from latest drabble (Handcuffed together): "Huh," Dean muttered and licked his lips, successfully drawing Castiel's gaze from his eyes. "Well, that's one way to pass the time."
1. An Abstract Concept

**A/N: **30 day cheesy trope challenge: #19 - Vampire AU

The title of the story has nothing to do with anything, really, I just didn't want to name it 30 Day Cheesy Trope Challenge. But it's a line from Love They Say by Tegan And Sara, which is a pretty good song.

I probably won't write a drabble every day but we'll see. Warnings: violence against animals (mentioned), underage sex (mentioned)

* * *

**An Abstract Concept**

* * *

Dean sometimes wondered if starving himself would really be so bad. As far as he knew, he couldn't die from it. He'd gone weeks before without blood. Out of necessity mostly but sometimes, just to see if he could. Cas always made him go out and get himself something to eat before the thirst grew too strong. He didn't want Dean to loose himself in the thirst and Dean didn't want that either, but he hated drinking animal blood almost as much as starving.

Some animals went down easier than others. Of their usual diet, Dean much preferred cow's blood. Dogs were okay, too, but rabbits almost always made him hurl and cats weren't much better. The only thing worse than rabbits were rats. Dean had only been desperate enough to drink rat's blood once and he never would again.

They were in Detroit now, squatting in an abandoned warehouse Cas had found them. Cows were of short supply in the city, but they could grab the occasional mutt of the street. It had been three days since they'd last fed and although the hunger was constant, it was still easily manageable. Easy enough so that Dean could think about other things.

"Cas?" Even though Dean kept his voice low, it echoed slightly in the wide, open space around them. Not enough to be heard by human ears, or at least Dean didn't think. He didn't know how good human hearing was, only that it wasn't as good as vampire hearing.

"Yes, Dean?"

"D'you ever think about sex?"

"No, not really." Cas frowned. "Do you?"

"Sometimes," Dean admitted. He wasn't completely sure anymore how old he'd been when he turned. He thought it might have been shortly after his thirteenth birthday but he couldn't remember. At any rate, it had been early enough that sex was still an abstract concept.

"You think about having it?" Cas asked.

Dean shrugged. "Kind of." He paused, trying to figure out how to explain himself. "I mean, if I'd stayed human, I would have grown up. I probably would have had sex."

"I wouldn't have."

"Why not?"

"It sounds very messy," Cas said disdainfully. "So many bodily fluids and confusing emotions involved. I don't think I'd want to have it, even if I had grown up."

"Maybe you would have had to, though," Dean pointed out. "Like, if you'd wanted to have babies."

"I wouldn't have wanted babies either. They also involve many bodily fluids and confusing emotions."

Dean snorted. "Yeah."

They fell silent and Dean figured the conversation was over. Distantly, he could hear traffic and, underneath, the constant pulse of hundreds of human hearts pumping away.

"Dean?"

Dean was startled out of his trance. "Yeah?"

"I could..." Cas licked his lips. "If you do want to have sex, it should be with me."

Dean heard what Cas wanted to say: that trying to look for someone else might end up with Dean getting hurt. He also heard what Cas most likely didn't want him to: that he didn't want Dean to make that kind of connection with anyone but him. He didn't want anyone to be closer to Dean than him.

Cas didn't want to have sex but for Dean, he would. The knowledge brought Dean a high he'd only ever felt before when tasting human blood. He felt powerful but also dizzy and nauseous. He really didn't like the thought of Cas hurting himself just to please him.

"Nah," he muttered. "Like you said, it sounds kind of messy."


	2. I Don't Need to Be Forgiven

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #25 - High School AU

Warning: both boys are kind of damaged here. Title is taken from Baba O'Riley by the Who because why the hell not.

* * *

**I Don't Need to Be Forgiven**

* * *

"Don't tell me you're doing that on school grounds now."

Cas narrowed his eyes and leaned against the stone wall. The sky was clear and the sun was shining, but he'd still managed to find a relatively dark and cool alcove out back by the dumpsters to get lit. "Why?"

Dean shrugged. "Aren't you afraid you might get caught?"

Cas laughed, low and hollow. "And what, get expelled? I'm a Milton, Dean, Miltons don't get expelled. You don't need to worry about authority when you can buy it off."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean mumbled. "Can I get a hit?"

Cas shrugged, the movement almost an exact replica of the way Dean had shrugged before, loose and exaggerated. It never failed to freak Dean out to see his friend picking up his mannerisms. Mostly he was worried what else Cas could be picking up from him; he may be jaded and maybe he occasionally partook on school grounds, but he'd never gotten into a fight in the middle of the cafeteria or failed an entire semester's worth of classes at once, like Dean.

"Keep it," Cas said as he handed Dean the joint.

Dean quickly looked around before taking his first hit. There was a security camera mounted on a nearby wall but it was pointed at the dumpsters. Their secluded little alcove was left a blind-spot, probably just as Cas had intended. Then again, maybe Cas didn't really care about being seen. He was right about his name and family money being fully capable of keeping him from getting expelled, no matter the crime. "Thanks, dude."

"No problem." Cas grinned, baring all his teeth. It was an oddly threatening expression. "You can pay me back with a blowjob."

Dean snorted and took another long drag of the joint. It was nearly finished. "Like hell I will. I don't mix with business with pleasure."

"Funny, here I thought you blowing weird dudes in shady alleys was your idea of business."

The blood in Dean's veins turned to ice, freezing the comforting burn in his chest the joint had brought. It wasn't as if he'd ever blown someone for money, but he'd let a few creeps feel him up at a local bar for a quick buck during the really desperate times. He'd confessed it to Cas once, ironically enough while high off his ass. Told him how he'd felt afterwards, like the touch of those men was left clinging to him, leaving him soiled. Like everyone who saw him could tell.

They'd never talked about it again. Dean had been half-way certain that Cas had forgotten all about it, since he hadn't brought it up. Evidently not.

Cas chuckled. "Dean, seriously, your face. Lighten up, I'm just messing with you."

Normally the stilted way Cas pronounced common phrases would make Dean smile. Normally, even just a few drags of a joint would leave Dean loose and happy.

Happy was the furthest thing from his mind right now. "Just messing around?"

Cas rolled his eyes. "Yeah. You really need to loosen up."

Dean wasn't sure what possessed him to do it. He was basically sober, but the anger flowing through him had him reckless and stupid. Anger usually had that effect on him.

Without breaking eye contact with Cas, Dean dropped to his knees in front of him. Cas' already blown pupils grew even bigger, almost completely enveloping the blue of his irises. He visibly swallowed and his mouth dropped open, just a tiny bit. Dean quirked a challenging eyebrow and reached for the waist on Castiel's jeans. Cas' mouth snapped shut and he narrowed his eyes at Dean, returning the challenge.

Dean had expected Cas to back down right away and the fact that he hadn't threw him for a loop. But he'd be damned if he'd be the first to back down, so he swiftly undid Cas' belt and the top button on his jeans. Cas' chest was starting to heave noticeably but he didn't try to push Dean away, so Dean continued, pulling down his zipper, finally breaking eye contact as he focused on the small metal teeth sliding away, revealing Cas' white boxer briefs. His white boxer brief and the nicely proportional lump underneath, already looking half-hard.

Dean licked his lips absentmindedly.

"Dean." Cas' voice was ragged and breathy. Dean's head snapped up and as he took in Castiel's flushing cheeks, he could feel the blood flood to his own cheeks in an answering blush. "Don't-"

And just like that, the blood rushed from his face again, as Dean was hit with a cold dash of reality. What the hell was he doing?

Dean began to pull his hands - trembling, but not from anything but the chilly air - away, but Castiel's hands came down lightning fast and halted their progress.

"Don't stop."

Castiel's voice was still breathy but now Dean could recognize the heat in it as well. Could recognize the lust in his expression, the way his chest heaved not with anxiousness but anticipation. Dean didn't think he'd ever seen a more attractive sight than Cas flushing, lips wet with saliva and eyes dark. Glazed. Unseeing. Crap.

Cas was stoned out of his mind. He would never ask Dean for this if he wasn't. Never would have made that stupid and hurtful joke about Dean paying his debts via blowjobs.

His stomach was rolling with nausea. Had Dean really just been about to blow his high-as-fuck best friend?

Dean yanked the zipper back up, quick and careless and it really was a minor miracle that Cas' dick didn't get caught in it.

"Dean?"

Cas' voice just sounded confused now. More than confused, lost. Like he couldn't possibly understand why Dean had stopped.

"I can't," Dean said. He stumbled to his feet, unable to look Cas in the eye. "I have to go."

He ran. Cas might have called his name but Dean could not hear anything but the beating of his own heart and the blood rushing behind his ears. He felt like he might actually throw up. What the hell was the matter with him? Why couldn't he react like a normal, well-adjusted person to anything?

What he'd almost done to Cas was unforgivable. Dean would count himself lucky if he could ever look his friend in the eye again.


	3. Nothing to Lose and Plenty to Miss

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #6 - Spin the Bottle

Title taken from Spin the Bottle by Benny Joy.

* * *

**Nothing to Lose and Plenty to Miss**

* * *

It was Anna Milton's thirteenth birthday. For the occasion she was throwing a party, stuffing the family mansion full with more than eighty teens - their entire year. No one else had thrown a party that big but then, no one else had a house that big except Anna's weirdo stepbrother, Castiel, who didn't have any friends.

Anna Milton didn't just have the biggest house in the year; she was also, as far as Dean was concerned, the most beautiful girl in school. How she didn't have a boyfriend already was a mystery to Dean, but all that meant was he had a shot with her. And tonight, he was going to take it.

It wasn't long into the party before someone was suggesting they play spin the bottle. Dean knew the game had become popular with their year in the last few months but he'd never tried it before. As he saw Anna Milton sit down in the circle surrounding the bottle, tugging her stepbrother to sit down next to her, Dean knew it was high time he did.

He sat down between Ash and Jo, and the latter shot him a small smile which Dean returned. He didn't really like the idea of kissing Jo, who was more like a sister to him than anything else, but he was confident that the bottle wouldn't be landing on her when it was his turn. It would land on Anna, he could just feel it.

Anna went first, spinning the bottle gently so it came to an almost immediate halt on Ash. Dean did his best not to frown as they shared a chaste kiss. If only she'd spun the bottle a little bit harder.

Ash went next and so the game continued. Ash kissed Lisa Braeden, who kissed Jo (on the cheek), who kissed Anna's stepbrother, Castiel. Castiel gave Anna an irritated look before grabbing the bottle. He spun it forcefully and it went round and round for what felt like ages before it finally started to slow down. At first, it looked like it would stop on Jo again but it just barely passed her and landed on Dean.

Dean stared at it, as if he could somehow will it to start moving again. His ears grew red when he heard everyone giggling. Jo cackled and said, "You have to kiss. I kissed Lisa, so you have to kiss, too."

Dean wanted to tell her to shut up. He looked up at Castiel, who didn't look remotely bothered by any of it. Damn it, Dean was not going to look like a lesser man than that dork, especially not in front of Anna. He crawled across the circle, stopping just a few inches away from Castiel. He could just kiss his cheek, like Jo had done with Lisa.

But then Castiel leaned forward and it was obvious he wasn't aiming for Dean's cheek. He got close enough so Dean could feel his breath on his face before Dean realized he needed to move. He darted his head to the side, quickly planting a light kiss on Castiel's cheek, but not before he felt the slight brush of Castiel's lips against his own.

Dean crawled back into his spot, blushing furiously. His so-called friends were still giggling and he wanted to run and hide, but he couldn't let it all be in vain. He still hadn't gotten to kiss Anna.

He spun the bottle and he was only slightly disappointed when it landed on Meg Masters. At least she was a girl.

* * *

It was Anna Milton's thirtieth birthday. Still as given for large celebrations as she'd been as a teen, she'd rented out a conference hall for the occasion and invited around sixty of her closest friends.

No one was playing spin the bottle this time, but Dean was still feeling nostalgic. He took a sip of the too-sweet Riesling he'd been handed when he entered. He preferred beer but, hey, free booze. Cas joined his side, holding his own glass of wine. Whereas Dean drinking wine looked like a caveman someone was attempting to civilize, Cas looked like the very image of sophistication. Or would, if his tie wasn't crooked.

Dean handed Cas his glass and went about fixing his tie. "I can't believe you still haven't learned this."

"Maybe I just like giving you excuses to put your hands on me," Cas said. His voice was so dry, it was impossible to tell if he was joking or not.

"As if I need any excuses."

To prove his point, Dean gave Cas a pat on the ass before taking his glass back.

"Try to behave, Dean. We're not leaving ten minutes in like last time."

"That wasn't my fault," Dean pointed out.

Cas took a sip of his wine. "You were the one who showed up smelling like motor oil."

"You and your weird kinks, man."

The party was heading into full swing as the guests kept pouring in. Dean spotted a few familiar faces, some he hadn't seen in a while. Sam and Jess were there, of course, as were the rest of Anna and Castiel's large flock of siblings. Meg Masters had shown up as well (the woman was harder to get rid of than most bacteria), and she was giving Cas an appraising look that Dean really didn't like. She winked when she saw Dean was looking and he quickly turned his head the other way. Best not to let her know she was bothering him or she'd get ten times worse.

The conference hall was beginning to feel sort of claustrophobic. Dean had never felt very comfortable in a crowd. "Cas?"

"Mm?"

"Do you wanna get out of here? Just for a few minutes."

Cas took one look at Dean and nodded. Dean grabbed a half-empty bottle of wine and they headed into the next room. It was another conference hall, smaller and filled with chairs. They sat down in the corner and shared the wine, drinking it straight from the bottle.

"Do you remember our first kiss?" Dean asked.

Cas startled at the question. "Yes," he said slowly, clearly uncertain what had brought it on. "Our junior year at KU. We had been drinking at the Roadhouse, and I didn't want to wake my roommate."

Dean smiled at the memory. "That was a good one. But it's not the one I'm talking about."

"It was our first kiss."

"No it wasn't." Dean took a large swig from the bottle, emptying it completely. "Our first kiss was at Anna's birthday party."

Cas frowned in thought. "I don't remember that."

"Come on, dude. Spin the bottle?" Dean raised the empty bottle in his hand for emphasis. "We were thirteen. How can you not remember?"

"You kissed me on the cheek," Cas said. "I wasn't aware we were counting that."

"Our lips brushed. We're definitely counting that."

"Our lips brushed," Cas repeated. He sounded skeptical.

"They did," Dean insisted. He pouted exaggeratedly. "That was my first kiss. Are you saying my entire romantic history is based on a lie?"

"Now you are being dramatic." Cas grabbed Dean's collar and tugged him closer. "Although I have to admit that I like the idea of being your first."

He tilted his hand, angling for a kiss, but Dean leaned back. He held up the empty wine bottle. "Wait your turn."

Cas snorted and grabbed the bottle from Dean. He spun it, as forceful as he'd been seventeen years ago. The two of them watched as the bottle slowed, finally coming to a stop pointing at the wall. Dean glanced up at Cas, who was frowning at the bottle like it had somehow betrayed him. He reached out and turned the bottle until it was pointed at Dean.

"That's cheating," Dean said, unable to keep himself from smiling.

In response, Cas pulled him in for a lingering kiss.


	4. Do It Our Way

**A/N: **30 day cheesy trope challenge: #9 - Matching soulmate marking

This is probably my most flawed story in this challenge so far but it's also my favorite. I might just rewrite it later, when I'm not feeling so pressed for time. Anyway, the whole soulmate thing always kind of bothered me, so I twisted this trope a little. That's not cheating, is it?

* * *

**Do It Our Way**

* * *

Dean could still remember perfectly the day Sam got his soulmate mark. He'd just turned five and Sammy was only a few months old. At first, the letters had been tiny, completely illegible on his chubby little wrist, but as Sam grew, so did the mark. When he turned two years old, you could just make out a name: _Jessica Moore_.

Sam had never gone out to look for her but he'd found her anyway, during his first week at Stanford. The two of them had hit it off immediately and Sam had later described it as finding the missing piece of himself. Dean had laughed and called him a girl, but he'd felt an odd, empty ache in his chest.

Twenty-nine years old and Dean still had no mark. Officially, he'd given up on the mark ever appearing. It was incredibly rare for soulmates to be born more than twenty years apart. It happened, but a much more likely explanation was that they were dead. Probably since before Dean was born.

Dean knew other people who had no marks. Most of them had had marks at some point, but they'd disappeared before they could find their soulmate. A few had met and fallen in love with their soulmate, only to lose them. But Dean was the only person he knew of who'd never had a mark at all.

It didn't exactly make dating easy. Sure, the dating pool was there, but most of the people in it considered Dean second best to someone they'd either loved and lost or never met at all. Meeting Cas had been something of a miracle.

Cas had had a name on his wrist for five short days when he was eight. For most people, this would be enough for them to view any relationship after that as settling. But Cas wasn't most people and he loved Dean the only way he knew how: fiercely and absolutely. Dean, in turn, didn't turn tail and run when presented with commitment, the way he'd always done. He allowed himself to fall in love.

Even if some distant part of him felt hollow, every time he looked at his wrist and found it unmarked.

* * *

"Is this Dean Winchester?"

Dean frowned into the receiver. He normally didn't answer calls from unknown numbers but something had compelled him to pick up the phone. "Yeah?"

"My name is Anna Milton," the woman on the other end said. "I know it's probably rude of me to ask, but do you have a soulmate mark?"

Yeah, he definitely should have let it ring. "Why?"

"Because if you don't, I have a letter for you." Anna continued, sounding hesitant, "At least, I'm pretty sure it's for you. Maybe it's best you come over so I can explain."

* * *

Three days later, Dean was parked in front of Anna Milton's house. She lived at the other end of town, in the most sparsely populated part of Lawrence. The house itself was practically a mansion but it looked like it had seen better days.

Dean stepped out of the car, his stomach rolling nervously. He could pretty well guess the contents of the letter Anna had for him and he had no idea how to feel about it. He wasn't even sure he wanted to read it.

But it was too late to turn back now. Slowly, Dean walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Almost immediately, the door swung open.

Anna Milton was kind of hot but Dean could only notice that in an abstract way, too occupied with the letter. "You must be Dean."

"And you must be Anna." Dean smiled, aware that it was a far cry from his usual charming grin.

Anna stepped aside. "Please, come in."

The inside of the house wasn't much better than the outside. The furniture was shabby and haphazardly placed, like someone had started to rearrange them but given up in the middle of it. The paint on the walls was chipping and the windows were so grimy, you could barely make out whether it was day or night outside.

"I know it's a little messy," Anna said self-consciously. "My grandmother lived here alone and she just passed away. We've been cleaning the place out but progress has been kind of slow. Everyone is so busy."

Dean nodded absentmindedly. He really didn't care about the state of the place. "You told me you had a letter for me?"

"Yes, I do."

Anna walked him into the kitchen. There was a box filled with yellowed papers on the counter and at the very top, an envelope addressed to Dean. It had been torn open.

"I opened it," Anna explained. "I figured whoever Dean Winchester was must be long dead but when I read it... just see for yourself."

Dean nodded and grabbed the envelope. His hand was shaking slightly as he pried it open and fished out the letter.

_June 17, 1942_

_Dear Mr. Winchester,_

_I write this letter to you, not knowing if you will ever read it. Still, as I am shipping out tomorrow, I felt it needed to be done._

_ To the best of my knowledge, I have never born the soulmate marking. I was content to wait and leave destiny to its course but it now seems I am running out of time. I am not such a fool to go marching to war, expecting to survive._

_ A few days ago, I met with a mystic. She could not tell me the location of my soulmate, or even if they were dead or not yet alive, but she could give me a name: Dean Winchester. All my research yielded no positive results, so I leave it now with my brother, along with this letter. If you are to be found then he will find you, and hopefully give you some peace of mind. I will likely die soon, never knowing the fate of my soulmate. The least I can give you is that one certainty._

_ All my love,_

_ Michael Milton_

Dean read through the letter twice. Even so, he had a difficult time understanding what it was he was reading. It was like he was disconnected from the act, seeing the words without taking them in. Finally, he lowered his hand.

"He died in the Battle of Guadalcanal," Anna said quietly. "My grandfather - his brother - had a stroke some time after that. I guess he never got around to making sure you'd get the letter."

"Right." Dean cleared his throat.

"There's also this." Anna dug into the box on the counter, pulled out an old photograph and handed it to Dean.

It was a picture of a young man in a soldier's uniform with dark hair, carefully combed and parted, and a grim expression. "Is that-"

"Yeah, it is."

Dean swallowed. The photo had to have been taken around the time Michael wrote the letter. He looked to be about Dean's age. His left wrist, poking conspicuously from the sleeve of the uniform, was unmarked.

It was too surreal. Dean felt like he should be sadder. Here was near undeniable proof that his soulmate was dead, over thirty years before Dean ever had a chance at meeting him. He should be devastated, like John had been when Mary died.

... Only, John had actually known Mary. They'd been married, and in love. Dean had never and would never meet Michael. They would never have the chance to get to know each other or fall in love or get married or any of that shit. It made Dean a little melancholy to think of it, and he certainly felt bad for the poor bastard who probably died without ever getting laid, waiting for his soulmate to come waltzing into his life.

But Dean wasn't waiting for anyone. He'd stopped really hoping at twenty and at twenty-six, when he'd met Cas, he'd stopped wanting to. He glanced down at his own unmarked wrist and for the first time, it didn't make him feel hollow. It made him feel determined.

He handed the photo back to Anna. "Keep it."

"Are you sure?"

Dean nodded. "I appreciate you calling me, but I didn't know Michael. Keeping a photo of him seems kind of creepy."

"Uh, okay." Anna looked torn between amused and scandalized. "Do you want to keep the letter?"

He hadn't intended to. The only thing that caused him to pause was the sudden thought of Cas - he had no idea where Dean was or what he was doing. Weirdly, Dean almost felt like he was somehow being unfaithful. He needed to tell Cas about this. Needed to show him the letter.

"Yeah." Dean stuffed the letter in his pocket. "Thanks."

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Dean?"

Dean grinned. "Definitely."

The tattoo needle whirred to life. The artist, a hugely tall woman with shoulders like a quarterback and pastel pink hair, glared at Dean. "You're gonna need to stay still, cowboy."

"I'm right here," Cas muttered into his shoulder, squeezing Dean's right hand with both of his. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dean swallowed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. The needle pierced his skin but he barely noticed it. He turned Cas' hand so he could see the fresh tattoo on his left wrist: _Dean Winchester_, in simple black letters. There would be no mistaking it for an actual soulmate mark; the lettering was far too dark and neat.

Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

"_So screw destiny, right in the face. I say we take the fight to them, and do it our way_."  
—Dean Winchester


	5. Squishy, Tall, Pretty

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #30 - Zombie AU

Warning: very experimental work. It's either great or it sucks, there's no in between.

* * *

**Squishy, Tall, Pretty**

* * *

Dean love brains. Squishy, yummy brains. Dean eat brains. Dean happy.

Dean love Sammy. Big tall Sammy. Sammy eat brains (squishy, yummy brains), Sammy happy. Dean happy.

Dean love Cas. Pretty Cas. Cas no eat brains. Cas see Dean, Cas cry. Dean sad. Cas have brains (squishy, yummy brains). Dean eat brains.

Dean bite Cas (pretty Cas). Cas stop cry. Cas eat brains, Cas happy. Dean happy.

Dean love Cas.


	6. Going Up, Going Down

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #26 - Elevator Meeting(s)

Finally the mature rating comes to play, if only for one brief scene.

* * *

**Going Up, Going Down**

* * *

Castiel was used to riding the elevator alone on his way to work. He worked the midnight shift at a local retirement home and by the time he left his apartment, most of the people in the building had gone to bed. He certainly didn't remember ever running into this handsome stranger before.

The stranger smiled at him. He had very nice teeth. "Hi, there."

"Hello," Castiel said. "I haven't seen you before."

"I just moved in," the stranger explained. "Floor eight, apartment F. I'm Dean, by the way."

He held out his hand and Castiel shook it. "I'm Castiel. Floor ten, apartment D."

"Cool." The elevator chimed, having reached the ground floor, and the doors opened. "It was nice meeting you, Cas. Maybe I'll come up to the tenth floor and say hi sometime?"

Castiel nodded, surprised that he truly meant it. "I would like that."

* * *

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel's heart jumped in his chest at that voice, and he smiled unconsciously. "Hello, Dean."

Dean was smiling as well. There was a light flush in his cheeks that reminded Castiel of the last time they'd met. "Long time, no see."

It had been less than twelve hours. Far too long, in Castiel's opinion. How long after the first date was it appropriate to schedule another? "You forgot your jacket at my apartment."

"I was wondering where that was." Dean's eyes wandered down, then up again. Castiel felt very bare under the scrutiny. "Guess I'll have to come by and pick it up."

The elevator chimed.

"I suppose you will."

* * *

The elevator doors had not yet closed when Dean got on his knees.

"We are-" Castiel gasped, as Dean mouthed him through his pants, "-half a minute away from my apartment. Couldn't this wait?"

"No," Dean said. In one smooth movement, he tugged down the zipper on Cas' pants and pulled his cock out from his underwear.

He closed his mouth around it and Cas jerked his hips forward into that wet heat, completely unprepared. He wasn't a teenager anymore and couldn't quite go from zero to sixty, but the suction from Dean's mouth was doing some amazing things to him.

Castiel didn't even hear the chime but one moment, Dean was tucking him back into his underwear and standing up, and the next, the doors were sliding open.

"C'mon Cas," Dean said breathlessly, a teasing grin on his face. "Ten seconds and you can have my mouth back on your cock."

Castiel was half-tempted to tug Dean right back down to his knees, but he nodded and stiffly followed Dean out into the hallway.

* * *

"Hey, Cas." Dean's voice was subdued, ashamed. Good, he had every reason to be. "I called you." Eleven times, not that Castiel was counting. "I guess you forgot your phone at home?"

"No," Castiel said. "I didn't pick up because I didn't want to talk to you."

Dean grimaced. "Look, man, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Castiel echoed. "You told me you were honest about who you are with your family."

"I didn't word it _exactly _like that..."

Castiel glared at him. "You introduced me to your brother as your friend. How, exactly, would you count that as being honest?"

Dean lowered his head to the ground, looking properly chastised. He didn't offer up another word in his defense and when the elevator doors opened, he left in a hurry.

* * *

Castiel missed Dean. He hadn't realized just how much, until the elevator stopped on the eighth floor and he saw those deep green eyes for the first time in two weeks.

"Cas." Dean sounded as surprised as Castiel himself felt. Understandable, as Castiel was rarely up in the middle of the day. "Uh, hi."

"Hello, Dean."

They settled into an uncomfortable silence. Even Castiel, who could be described at the best of times as socially illiterate, could feel the tension in the air.

"I told Sam," Dean blurted out suddenly. "I mean, not about us, since we're not exactly an 'us' anymore. But, about liking dudes in general."

Castiel opened his mouth, then closed it again. There were so many things he wanted to say to Dean - To ask how Sam had taken it. To tell him that he hadn't meant to push Dean into this but he was happy for him. That he desperately wanted for them to still be an 'us'.

Before he could decide on what to say, the elevator chimed.

"Just thought you should know," Dean muttered, and then he was gone.

* * *

"Sam's getting married," Dean said, as soon as he stepped into the elevator.

"Hello to you too, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned forward to give Castiel a quick kiss in greeting. "Hi, Cas. So it's in three months and I want you to be my date. Give the whole 'meeting the family' thing another try. What do you say?"

Castiel blinked. "You want me to meet your family? As your... date?"

"Well, yeah." Dean shrugged sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning red. "I just figured..."

Castiel wasn't quite sure what to say, still in shock over the fact that Dean not only wanted to introduce him to his family but also apparently assumed that they would still be together in three months.

"You don't have to go," Dean said, clearly mistaking Castiel's shock for hesitation.

"I want to," Castiel assured him.

"Oh." Dean licked his lips. "Good."

The elevator chimed.


	7. All That Glitters

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #23 - Mythical Creature/Human

So apparently Dragon Cas is like a thing now? I am all for that. This story takes place in some alternate fantasy universe where people live like it's the middle ages but talk like it's the 21st century. Just go with it.

* * *

**All That Glitters**

* * *

Being tied down to a cold stone altar in a forest clearing and painted in his own blood was not how Dean had envisioned his Friday night going.

"Don't squirm," the village priestess reprimanded him. "This sigil needs to be perfectly drawn in order to attract the right dragon."

Dean glared at her. "Maybe you should have picked a volunteer who actually volunteered. Or tried fighting the dragon instead of throwing more meat at it."

"We do not have the strength to take on the dragon," the priestess said testily. "A virgin sacrifice will appease the dragon for now, long enough for us to gather our forces and attack."

"And how does that work exactly, when your sacrifice isn't a virgin?"

The priestess ignored Dean as she finished drawing the sigil onto his chest. She and the rest of the villagers were all resolutely ignoring the fact that Dean was not a virgin, as if that would somehow make it true. They weren't too eager to sacrifice anybody else, as Dean was the only youth in town without a family. No one would miss him.

The priestess put away her tools and left the clearing, leaving Dean alone. He tugged furiously at his restraints, grinding the rope against his wrists and ankles until he bled, but it was no use. The anger Dean had been holding onto began to slip away, replaced by almost paralysing fear. The dragon would be there soon and Dean was completely helpless. Even if he managed to free himself, he had no weapons to defend himself. If he fled to the village, he would be dragged back to the clearing, kicking and screaming. If he fled into the forest, it wouldn't be long before his bleeding wounds attracted predators. That was assuming the dragon wouldn't catch up with him first.

And speak of the devil. An colossal shadow passed over the clearing, too quickly for Dean to spot the creature that cast it. For a few moments everything was still, and then there the ground trembled as the dragon landed.

"Shit, shit, shit," Dean muttered, desperately struggling. If the ropes would give just a little bit, he might be able to slip free. He ignored the pain in his wrists, where the skin was beginning to flay from the friction. A little bit of pain was nothing compared to being eaten alive.

"You are not a virgin."

If Dean hadn't been tied down, he might have jumped out of his skin. He craned his head upwards and saw a strange man enter the clearing. He was wearing a tattered tunic tied around his waist and a dismayed frown.

"Help me," Dean pleaded. "Untie me, before the dragon comes."

The stranger's frown deepened and he approached Dean calmly. "You are the virgin sacrifice, correct?"

Dean fought back a disappointed whine and slumped back on the alter, utterly defeated. Figured this guy would be in on it. Why wouldn't he be? Not a single person in the village had protested when Dean had been chosen.

"Answer me."

"Yeah," Dean said dully. "I'm the sacrifice."

"But you are not a virgin."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm still going to get eaten by a dragon, so at this point it's all schematics."

"You will not get eaten," the stranger said. Then he reached out and began to untie the ropes around Dean's ankles. "I do not eat human meat. I prefer not to eat meat at all."

"You... what?" Crazy. This guy was crazy, there was no other explanation, but he was at least helping Dean out so that still put him ahead of everyone else Dean knew.

"You are not a virgin," the stranger said again, "but you are beautiful. I suppose you are suitable."

"Suitable?" Dean asked. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The stranger ignored Dean's question. "What is your name?"

"What?"

"Your name."

The rope around Dean's ankles fell to the side and he bent his legs, grateful to be able to move them again. "Dean."

"Dean," the stranger repeated, firmly pronouncing the word as if he were committing it to memory. He smiled. "Yes, I like that name." He started untying the ropes around Dean's wrists, careful to peel them away slowly so as to not irritate Dean's wounds. "My name is Castiel."

"Okay..." Dean said slowly. As soon as his left hand was free, he tried to flex it, but that caused a sharp burst of pain. He winced and sat up as Castiel finished untying him.

Then Castiel grabbed onto both his wrists. "Hold still."

"Are you nuts?" Dean said. "We need to get out of here before the dragon comes!"

Castiel raised his head to meet Dean's eyes and Dean froze.

Castiel's eyes were a deep blue and at first, Dean thought the striking color was what had caught his attention. But no, there was something off. He had slit pupils.

"Now will you hold still?" Castiel asked. There was a low rumble in his voice that Dean hadn't noticed before.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, then shut it and nodded. Castiel squeezed his hands around Dean's wrist. Instead of being painful, his touch felt warm. The warmth spread, from Dean's wrists to the tips of his fingers and up to his shoulders.

Castiel let go. Dean stared at his hands; the wounds were gone, as if they'd never been there. "How-"

The world suddenly tilted, as Castiel swept Dean into his arms and launched himself off the ground. Dean instinctively wrapped his arms around Castiel's shoulders and held on for dear life. He looked down but the sight of the forest growing smaller and smaller the further they flew made him dizzy, so he looked up instead.

Castiel had sprouted wings. They were enormous, black and leathery. They certainly looked like they could easily carry both Dean and Castiel, but Dean was still uneasy. Screw uneasy, he was freaking terrified. Man was not meant to fly and if Castiel were to drop him now, Dean would be a bloody splatter on the ground without doubt.

"Calm yourself," Castiel muttered into his ear. Dean could barely hear him over the howling wind. "I am an excellent flier. I will not let you fall."

In response, Dean tightened his hold.

They landed in front of a cave on the mountainside what seemed like an eternity later. Dean squirmed until Castiel put him down. As soon as he tried to stand on his own feet, however, he found he'd been a little too optimistic as his knees immediately gave way. Castiel caught him just before he fell.

"Will you just let me carry you?" he grumbled. "You are in no condition to walk."

"I can walk," Dean protested. "What is this place, anyway?"

"My nest," Castiel said, as if that were obvious.

"Your nest," Dean echoed. "Your... dragon's nest. Because you're a dragon."

The whole scenario had yet to sink in or Dean was sure he would be panicking.

"I am."

"The dragon in the mountainside."

"Yes." Castiel sounded slightly miffed. "What is the point of these questions?"

"You're the one who's been killing our livestock," Dean said, "and wilting our crops."

Castiel's eyes widened. "I have done no such thing! When your priestess summoned me with the sigil, I was asleep. I have been asleep for a long time."

"What's been killing our livestock, if not you?"

Castiel frowned. "The last time I was summoned to protect your livestock, the culprits were wolves. And I suppose the wilting crops could be due to drought."

He looked pointedly up at the clear blue sky. Now that he mentioned it, Dean could not remember the last time it had rained.

"The humans of this valley are mine to protect," Castiel said. "Not to hunt or kill."

"Then why take sacrifices?" Dean asked.

"An exchange for services rendered. I did not make the rules," Castiel added a little defensively. "But I admit that I am fond of the companionship."

"And why do they have to be virgins? Do you have some virgin kink?"

Castiel blushed. "I do not care one way or another, but this is the way the humans decided it. I was surprised to see that they had broken tradition, yes, but I wasn't angered. As I said, you are very beautiful."

Now it was Dean's turn to blush. He averted his gaze from Castiel's suddenly adoring one, trying to think of a different topic. "Are you gonna show me your nest?"

"Ah." Castiel's wing fluttered slightly. "Yes, I am."

They walked in through the opening, down, down, down into the mountain. Castiel kept an arm wrapped around Dean's waist, supporting him as Dean slowly got steadier on his legs. But even if he'd been perfectly all right, Dean had to concede that he might still have needed Castiel to guide him, as they went deeper into the darkness.

Finally, a faint light appeared. It was a warm, golden glow and as they approached it, Dean recognized it as fire. They turned a corner and came upon a humongous cavern, filled with more gold than Dean had ever seen in his life. There were piles of it: coins, jewels, swords and caskets and unshaped lumps. There was a large bonfire somewhere in the middle of the cave, casting its light on the gold and making it glitter.

Dean was suddenly aware that his mouth was hanging open and he snapped it shut. "Cas. This is- it's..."

"Is it all right?" Castiel asked nervously.

Dean cast him a disbelieving glance. "_All right_? I didn't even know there was so much gold in the world."

Castiel straightened and if Dean didn't know better, he'd say he was preening. "It's my hoard. And yours now, too, if you want it."

"_Mine_?" Dean repeated. "Why would you share this with me?"

"You are my companion now, are you not?"

Dean stared incredulously at Castiel, unable to help himself. He had woken up that morning expecting to be eaten alive by lunch. Instead, he was being offered riches beyond his wildest dreams and a position as a dragon's companion. Which Dean was half-way certain was just a fancy way of saying fuck buddy.

"There is more," Castiel said, clearly impatient for Dean to answer. "I can hunt for you, you would never need worry where your next meal came from again. I have silks for you to wear, and furs. Everything you could ever need."

"This is unreal," Dean muttered.

Castiel reached out, gently cradling Dean's face in his hands. His nails, Dean noted absentmindedly, were sharp like claws. "Stay here until sunrise. If you wish, I will then return you to your village." He looked like it killed him to say it but Dean was thankful for the out.

"Yeah, okay."


	8. Take Me Higher

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #22 - Online Relationship

So I'm cheating a bit here. This is a short expert from a story I wrote last November but never finished. This is pretty much the only part of it that can stand on its own (mostly, there are a couple of references to the rest of it but it can easily be read as a stand-alone). But it's smut, so yay!

Title is taken from Rude Boy by Rihanna.

* * *

**Take Me Higher**

* * *

Dean logs onto LoveBound, heart pounding in his chest and a thrumming ache in his groin. It's been three days: three days without Cas, without any sexual contact with another person, without even any sexual contact with himself, and Dean is dying.

The site loads, along with that familiar icon. He finds it hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, he could mistake this for some innocent dating site. The heart logo next to the domain name is, upon not very much further inspection, a hot pink collar in the shape of a heart and right beneath the words LoveBound is the subtitle 'for s&amp;M fetishists, enthusiasts and life-stylers alike'.

Dean clicks the chat and spots Cas' name immediately. He has yet to talk to anyone else on this site, nor does he feel any incentive to do so. Cas is kind and commanding all in one, and probably the only guy on this site that would humor some poor straight boy that stumbled upon it by accident looking to find explanations for his sudden attraction in dudes.

He waits for Cas to speak first. He always does, even if Cas hasn't given him a direct demand to, yet. He likes to think he can sense some sort of approval in Cas for the action, although of course it's impossible for him to tell since Cas hasn't mentioned in.

CASTIEL  
Hello, Dean.

DEAN  
Hey.

Cas is very strict about grammar and proper punctuation. If Dean makes so much as one spelling error, he gets punished, and not in the fun way. Needless to say, his typing has vastly improved over the last few weeks.

CASTIEL  
Your phone will ring in a few moments. I want you to pick it up. Do not speak until you are given permission.

Dean swallows, his throat dry as the desert. He knows it's stupid, monumentally so, but the last time they chatted, Cas had asked for his number and Dean had given it to him without a second thought. He's aware that the request should have had him pausing to think, at least, but he can't help it. He trusts Cas, even if he's never met him.

True to Cas' word, the phone starts ringing. Dean hesitates only for a second before he picks up. He's suddenly aware of how heavily he's breathing and he blushes as he realizes that Cas can probably hear it through the phone.

"Hello, Dean."

Cas' voice, which Dean will not admit to spending hours fantasizing about, suits him perfectly. It's gravelly and deep, pure sex. It's the kind of voice that's indecent outside of the bedroom and just the sound of it makes Dean's cock twitch in his pants.

Dean holds his breath, wanting desperately to answer Cas but knowing that he will get punished if he speaks out of turn. Anyway, it's about more than just that. Dean wants to obey, wants to be a good boy for Cas, wants make him proud.

"Tell me where you are and what you are wearing."

"I'm-" Dean has to clear his throat. His nerves are on edge and he's practically trembling. "I'm in front of my computer, in my bedroom. The door is closed." He hesitates but Cas makes no sound in approval or disapproval, so he continues. "I'm wearing a white t-shirt and cargo shorts, and- um, and-"

His face burns with shame and arousal. He knows that Cas knows how that sentence should end but he can't bring himself to say it. Just acquiring them and putting them on was difficult enough.

"And?" Cas prompts, his voice nothing put patient. It gives Dean strength.

"And panties," he says, rushing the words out. They're barely above a whisper but Dean feels like he shouted them at the top of his lungs. Just saying it makes him all the more aware of them; the silk dragging over his cock head, teasing him with the sensation.

"What do they look like?" Cas doesn't sound affected by all, which is completely unfair because Dean is practically a wreck.

"Um, they're, uh, pink. And satiny." Dean shifts in his seat, feeling the fabric of the panties shift with him. More blood rushes south. "And kind of lacy. There's a bow on the front."

"Dean," Cas says, his voice low and oh yeah, now he's affected. His voice hasn't changed much but it's clear from even that minuscule change that he's holding back. "I want you to lie back on your bed and remove your clothes, but leave the panties on. Put the phone on speaker if you have to."

Dean is quick to obey, stripping off his t-shirt and cargo shorts in quick, effective movements. He lies back on the bed, his head slightly raised on his pillow, still keeping the phone to his ear. "Done."

"What a pretty picture you must make." Cas sounds amused but also turned on, his voice a little bit ragged. It's doing all sorts of interesting things for Dean. "You've been a good boy the past three days, haven't you Dean? Haven't masturbated at all or let anyone else get you off for you."

"N-no sir," Dean replies, cursing himself for the hitch in his voice, but he really can't help it. Hearing Cas like this, sounding so fond, so proud, it does things to him.

"I don't think I need to tease you any further, then," Cas says. "You get to choose: do you want to touch your cock or your asshole?"

Dean lets out a low whine. No further teasing, his ass. How come he's only allowed one? Touching his cock would get him off much faster and it would be less frustrating; if Dean picked his asshole, he probably wouldn't even be able to get off at all. He's never been able to come untouched.

But... it's been days, and he feels so empty. And he knows which choice Cas would like for him to make, and that's really what clinches it.

"My- my asshole," Dean finally replies, voice just a whisper. Yet he's sure, judging by the groan on the other end of the line, that Cas heard him perfectly.

"Get your lube," Cas commands. "Get your fingers wet."

Dean reaches into his nightstand. There's a bottle of lube at the very bottom of it and he fishes it out, his heart pounding in his chest. He uncaps it and squeezes a liberal amount on his fingers.

"Describe to me what you are doing."

Dean groans. He pushes his panties to the side, not even bothering to remove them completely, and circles around his entrance with his fingers, then pushes the first one in. "I've got one finger inside of me."

"Inside where?"

"In my... my asshole," Dean stutters, feeling a little thrown. Saying his actions out loud makes them feel all the more real, all the more shameful. But then there's the part of him that embraces the shame, that gets off on it. That's the part Cas is so very good at bringing out.

"Are you ready for a second one?" Cas asks.

Dean nods, before he remembers that Cas can't see him. "Yes," he repeats.

"Of course you are." Cas chuckles. "That hungry little hole of yours is always eager for more."

It shouldn't turn him on, being talked to like that, but Dean is so far past the point of caring. He presses another finger inside himself, relishing in the slight burn that is disappointingly quick to subside. "I'm- I'm pumping my fingers in and out," he whimpers. His fingers catch on his prostate and he gasps, then starts aiming them there purposefully.

"How does it feel?"

"G-good. It feels so good, Sir."

There's a hitch in Cas' breath and Dean realizes with a groan that Cas must be masturbating on the other end. He moves his fingers faster, feverishly wishing that Cas were here to replace them with his cock.

"Add another." This time, Cas doesn't ask if he's ready. Not that it matters, Dean would do it anyway.

The third finger meets more resistance than the second, the pain blending perfectly with the pleasure. Dean keens, lifting his hips to meet the thrust of his fingers now. His cock is still trapped by silk and the slight friction of it as Dean drives against his fingers is driving him mad. He whimpers in frustration. He needs release, soon.

"Those sounds you make," Cas groans. "You're so hot for it. Could have picked your cock, could have made it easier on yourself, but no, you had to have something filling that greedy little hole of yours. It's been aching for it for days, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Dean agrees mindlessly. "Yes, yes, please."

"Please, what?" Cas laughs. "Please let me come? You can, if you are able to reach that point just by touching your asshole."

He feels so full, so good, but so incredibly frustrated. Dean almost wishes he had picked his cock, then he wouldn't be fighting for his release like this, feeling it just out of reach. He drives his fingers harder into himself, hitting his prostate on nearly every thrust. It's so much, too much, and yet not nearly enough. He needs to come.

He imagines that Cas is there, tugging his fingers out of his asshole and replacing them with his dick in one, smooth, hard thrust. Pounding into him ruthlessly, forcing Dean to clutch onto the headboard. Whispering those sweet obscenities straight into Dean's ear, with nothing between them.

Dean's not aware of how loud he's getting until he hears Cas chuckle again.

"You're close, I can hear it," he says. "I'm close, too. I want us to come together. Grab your dick."

Dean hesitates, his brain fighting to catch up with the situation. Hesitantly, he does as Cas commanded and shoves his hand down his panties. He almost comes at the first touch of his fingers to his dick, just barely managing to hold back. He keeps on fucking himself with his fingers, his other hand now slowly beginning to jerk off his cock. He speeds up a little, choking on his spit at how good it feels. He's so, so damn close now...

Cas moans. "That's it, Dean, come for me."

And he does, letting loose with a shouted word that might have been Cas, might have been some random obscenity or something worse altogether. He hears Cas finishing on his end of the line with a quiet groan.

Dean goes nearly completely limp immediately. His eyelids begin to droop; he's fighting to stay awake now.

"Good boy," Cas praises and Dean smiles sleepily, basking in it. "You did so well, Dean. Same time tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Dean agrees, yawning.

"Tomorrow it is, then. Oh, and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"No getting off in the mean time."


	9. Put the Devil in Me

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #4 - Angel/Demon AU

Title is taken from My Angel Put the Devil in Me from the Doctor Who episode "Daleks in Manhattan".

* * *

**Put the Devil in Me**

* * *

"I thought you'd be taller."

The loathsome creature standing in front of Castiel grinned at him. He had, Castiel noted disinterestedly, a face that would be considered attractive by human standards. Of course, Castiel was not human, and neither was the abomination currently grinning at him. Behind the attractive human face writhed unholy smoke.

"I also figured you'd be harder to catch," the demon continued.

The comment stung. Getting caught inside a ring of holy fire by a low level demon - an underling of Alastair's, his star apprentice said some - was unforgivably clumsy. Even as a fletchling, Castiel should have known better than to walk into such an obvious trap.

He had been overeager. Alastair was one of Lucifer's top generals and Castiel had been after him for a very long time. He was difficult to find, even more difficult to kill, but Castiel had been certain he'd had him. His pride had gotten the better of him.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" the demon asked.

"I have nothing to say to you," Castiel growled.

The demon's grin dropped. "Well, maybe I have something to say to you. Not like you have a choice, you're not going anywhere." Castiel glared at him. The demon didn't seem at all cowered but then, there was a wall of fire between them. "You came here looking for Alastair?"

Castiel clenched his fists and didn't answer. He had been stupid enough to get caught but he would be damned before he shared Heaven's plans with a demon.

"Fine, be that way. But if you did, I can tell you right now, he isn't here. However," the demon added, "I can tell you where he is."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I can't kill him myself," the demon said. "But you... you can."

"You want me to kill your master?" Castiel inquired, curious despite himself.

"He is not my master," the demon snarled. "You have no idea what hell is like, do you? Well, I do, and to me, Alastair is hell. I want the son of a bitch dead more than any of you heavenly dicks."

"I could kill you, too," Castiel pointed out.

"Don't care. As long as Alastair gets it, I don't care about anything else."

Castiel looked at the demon, more closely than before. The black smoke behind the stolen human face was nauseating to look at. Unclean, animalistic, unholy. And, Castiel noticed, for the first time, in pain.

"I don't make deals with demons," he finally said.

"Not much of a deal. You were going to kill Alastair, anyway."

He was right, not that Castiel was willing to admit that out loud. Castiel had nothing to lose by following the demon's advice. It could be a trap, he realized, but that didn't make much sense. The demon already had him right where he wanted him. To set him free only to trap him again would be nonsensical.

"All right."

The demon smirked and reached for a switch on the wall. He pulled it and water began to rain down, making the holy fire first sizzle, then go out.

A split second later, Castiel had the demon pinned against the wall.

"Aren't you friendly," The demon muttered.

Castiel grabbed his collar. "Give me Alastair's location."

"St. Augustine's Catholic Church, over in Memphis," the demon gasped. "Now, either let me go or kill me."

Castiel raised his hand with every intention to smite the demon but something caused him to hesitate. The demon took advantage of the brief pause to surge forward, smashing his lips into Castiel's. His tongue invaded his mouth; he tasted like sulfur, like ash and smoke, but his mouth was warm. His lips were soft against Castiel's and before Castiel knew it, he was returning the kiss with fervour to equal the demon's own. The demon raised his leg and ground his thigh against Castiel's crotch, causing a wave of sensation Castiel had never felt before.

He startled, breaking the kiss.

The demon laughed breathlessly. "Didn't expect that."

Castiel let go of the demon and backed away. The demon remained propped up against the wall, rubbing his hand on his thigh, licking his lips. He looked like sin incarnate and the thought of killing him as he stood filled Castiel with dread.

"I will come back for you," Castiel promised.

The demon cackled again. "Looking forward to it, angel."

Castiel spread his wings and prepared himself for flight. As he flew off after Alastair, he heard the demon say:

"By the way, the name's Dean."


	10. Kiss It Better

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #8 - Sex Pollen AU

This turned out kind of angsty? Not my intention, I swear.

* * *

**Kiss It Better**

* * *

Dean really hates witches. He hates going after one without back-up even more but there are three people dead and a fourth one dying, and someone needs to be looking for hexbags at the victim's house. Besides, the witch is expecting them to be scrambling after the hexbags, which gives Dean the element of surprise.

He picks open the lock on the witch's fancy-ass penthouse without a sound and carefully steps inside. The living room is to his left and he can see the witch standing in there, tending to a weird looking purple and yellow flower.

As he steps inside, Dean notices that the living room is full of them. He can vaguely recall seeing them somewhere before but he can't remember where. Whatever, he'll ice the witch first and then call Bobby about the flowers. Dean can already hear the other hunter's derisive voice, wondering whether he's going into floral arrangement now.

Dean cocks the gun and the sound catches the attention of the witch.

She turns around. "Oh my," she says dryly, "a big bad hunter with a gun. Whatever will I do?"

The complete lack of worry or fear is a little troubling but maybe her pokerface is just that good. "Drop dead, for one. Or how about you tell me where you hid the hexbag at Alice McCarthy's house and then I kill you?"

"Hexbag?" The witch rolls her eyes. "Oh _please_, I like to think I'm a little subtler than that."

She gestures around her and Dean suddenly has the terrible realization of where he's seen those things before: at the first victim's house.

The witch smirks. "Usually my babies take days to work their magic. But there is a trigger word. Would you like to know what it is?"

Dean doesn't and he raises his gun to shoot, but the witch is quicker.

"Abra-cadabra."

The living room is filled with a fine, powdery mist. Dean manages one blind shot before his body feels like it's on fire and he drops to his knees. His world is narrowed down to unbearable _heat_, all-encompassing, and it feels like he might pass out or die but he doesn't.

"Lucky me, I'm immune," the witch whispers into his ear, before grabbing his gun from his slackened grip. "With all the pollen you've inhaled, you'll be dead within minutes." She pushes him over and he falls flat on his back. "Wish I could stick around to see you die but I've got another hunter to get rid off."

Then she leaves, slamming the door behind her, but Dean is only barely aware of it. He pants for air and it takes all his mental effort to think to call Sam and warn him.

He reaches into his pocket for his phone but his hand gets lost along the way, and starts palming his dick through his pants instead. His rock-hard dick.

"Huh." Touching himself feels good but it's also frustrating because it's not nearly enough.

Right. Sam.

With much effort, Dean moves his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He dials Sam's number from memory, too out of it to think to use speed dial. It rings.

"Dean?"

"Sam," Dean mumbles. "Witch's comin' your way."

"Are you okay?" Sam sounds worried.

"'M fine," Dean lies. Then, because Sam is going to find out anyway, "No, 'm dyin'."

Sam curses. "Are you at the witch's place? I'll be there in fifteen."

"Too late. Sh'said it'd take minutes." Dean stops talking to take a few short breaths. There isn't enough air. He feels like he's suffocating. Feels like he's boiling in his skin, like his brain might start leaking out of his skull at any moment. The other victims had all died of a fever, he recalls hazily.

"_Dean_!" Sam is shouting.

"'M here," Dean reassures him.

"You need to call Cas," Sam says. "He's the only one who can get there fast enough."

Cas wouldn't show. Too busy with his stupid angel war.

"Dean, promise me."

"I pr'mise," Dean huffs. He gets the feeling he's forgetting something, and as he looks up into the misty air, he remembers what. "Watch out f'r the flow'rs."

"Flowers?" Sam repeats skeptically.

"Purple 'n yellow. Ugly fuckers."

"Look out for the purple and yellow flowers, got it. Now call Cas."

Dean nods, not realizing that Sam can't see him, and clumsily hangs up. His palms have gotten sweaty and the phone slips from his grip. Dean lets it drop. He doesn't need it, anyway, not to call...

Who was he supposed to call? Sam? No, he just finished talking with him.

Bobby? Could Bobby help? He knows a lot, maybe he know what the hell is yellow and purple and causes you to feel like you're slowly melting while also sporting the most stubborn erection known to man.

Dean grapples blindly around for his phone for a couple of second before giving up. Can't call Bobby, then. Can't call anyone, who's gonna hear him without a phone?

"Cas," Dean mumbles to himself, remembering. "Cas, s'rt of dyin'. Be nice 'f you came."

He closes his eyes. He can't be bothered to keep them open anymore. His body feels hot and heavy and all he can do is just keep drawing breath.

There is a sound Dean is pretty sure he didn't make. He can't make it out but it might be a voice. Then someone's putting their hand on his forehead. It's gloriously cool and Dean whimpers pathetically. He leans into the hand, wishes it would touch him all over.

"I cannot heal you," Cas says, and Dean realizes that it was his voice before, and his hand on Dean's forehead. "I must attempt the traditional cure."

The hand leaves and Dean whines in protest. "Cas. I need-"

"I know what you need," Cas cuts him off, not unkindly.

Then he's undoing Dean's pants and pulling out his by now painful erection, and the hand on his forehead before was nothing, nothing compared to this. Cas' grip is tight and it's at once maddening and the best thing Dean has ever felt. He starts moving his hand, fast and hard, causing pleasure to ride over Dean in waves. His body feels like one giant nerve, flayed open and vulnerable, tingling with the tantalizing promise of relief. Cas' hand on his dick is amazing but it's not enough; Dean needs him everywhere. His hands, his mouth, all of it, he wants Cas draped across him, wants every inch of skin Cas has to offer.

He reaches out his hands to pull Cas closer, but Cas grabs them and pins them to the floor, holding both of Dean's wrists in one hand. Dean's so close, and the twin touches of Cas' hands on his cock and his wrists make him burn for more. Dean moans loudly, both in pleasure and in frustration, Normally, he would be embarrassed to be making so much noise, but there's no room for anything but the heat and the need and _closer, Cas, please_.

Dean opens his eyes. Cas is hovering above him, inches away, his expression grim and focused. Dean raises his head and the gap between them closes as their lips meet. For one moment that feels like eternity, Cas is frozen. Then, his hand starts moving again, even faster, and he's kissing Dean back and that is _it_.

Dean comes. His body seizes and it feels so overwhelming, the pain and the pleasure, and he's certain he must be dying but it feels _so good_ and what a way to go.

It passes, eventually. Dean comes back to his senses, all of the sudden aware that he's biting down on Cas' lower lip. He releases it and Cas leans back, letting go of his wrists and tucking his soft dick back into his pants. The heat is gone and the air no longer feels stifling. If not for how exhausted Dean feels, he'd say it was as if it never was there.

"That was," he says awkwardly, "er, thanks."

"It was no trouble." Cas has his 'I'm an Angel of the Lord' face on, which means he's impossible to read, but Dean can still recognize the tension in his shoulders for what it is. "The nature of the pollen is such that your own touch would not have been enough to clear it from your system." He clears his throat, his hardened expression crumbling into an awkward grimace. "It is usually a harmless aphrodisiac, but it had been tampered with."

"So, cursed sex flowers," Dean summarizes.

"Essentially," Cas agrees.

Dean's eyes fall on his lips. He can still taste Cas' blood in his mouth but there is no trace of a wound. Still, Dean has the crazy urge to kiss it better.

Cas starts to pull away. "I should be going back to Heaven."

"Wait," Dean says, before he can stop himself. He grabs Cas' arm, knowing that Cas could shake him off easily if he weren't willing to stay. Cas doesn't. "Just..."

He licks his lips. Cas' eyes dart downwards as he absentmindedly echoes the action.

That clinches it. Dean leans up and kisses Cas again, soft and unhurried this time. Cas lets out a desperate noise against his lips and returns the kiss, deepening it. Dean can feel Cas' erection pushing against his thigh and he wants, more than anything, to return the favor.

"Cas," Dean gasps, breaking the kiss. "Stay."

Cas swallows. "Dean, I..." he stiffens. "I can't."

And he's gone. Dean is left alone on the living room floor, feeling cold and empty. Stupid, asking Cas to stay. Why would he want to?

"_Idiot_."

Dean turns his head and spots his phone. He stares at it blankly; he should call Sam, let him know that he isn't dead. Even if he really isn't looking forward to explaining why.


	11. From the Heart

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #3 - Anonymous Love Letters

Not to happy with this one, tbh. But, it's kinda cute and fluffy? Which is always good. Title taken from Love Letters by Victor Young.

* * *

**From the Heart**

* * *

It was all Anna's idea, for the record.

They were at her house, ostensibly studying for an upcoming chemistry test but really complaining about their pathetic love lives.

"I just know she's sleeping with Meg," Anna lamented. She was lounging on Castiel's bed, still in her cheerleader uniform. Her long, pale legs dangled over the side of the bed, and she would occasionally poke at Castiel's shoulder with her toes. "Jo said she saw them sneak out of the girls' room on the first floor last week, and their lipstick was all messy."

"At least you know Ruby likes girls," Castiel pointed out.

"Yeah, and she's made out with practically every girl at school who isn't me."

"So has Dean."

Anna snorted. "Touche. I just wish Ruby would notice me."

"I don't mind that Dean doesn't notice me in that way," Castiel admitted. "I just want him to know that he's loved."

Dean, in direct contrast to his popularity at school, didn't have much in the way of self-esteem. He hid it well but he and Castiel had been best friends for years, and Castiel had long since picked up on his tendency to think the worst of himself.

"Ruby could do with a little love, too," Anna admitted. "Even if she didn't know it was me..." Her expression brightened and she propped herself up on her elbows. "Oh my God. You know what we should do?"

"...No."

"We should write them love letters!"

Castiel's eyes widened. "_Why_?"

"Anonymous love letters." Anna rolled her eyes. "Obviously. That way you can let Dean know that he's loved without revealing to him that you've been creeping on him since ninth grade-"

"I don't creep."

"You kind of do," Anna said apologetically. "But in a sweet way."

Castiel didn't really see how 'creeping' on someone could be done in a sweet way, but he didn't want to get into an argument. Anna's point about the anonymous love letters was intriguing.

"As I was saying," Anna continued, "you let Dean feel loved, and I can do the same for Ruby. We could type up the letters, that way they won't recognize our handwriting." She grinned. "And to go the extra mile, you could deliver my letters to Ruby's locker, and I do the same for you."

It seemed like a good idea. Castiel's love would still be unrequited but there was nothing he could do to fix that. At least this way, he could safely let Dean know how he felt, without it affecting their friendship.

What Castiel failed to take into account at the time was that Anna always had an ulterior motive.

"What the hell?"

Castiel fiddled with the strap on his messenger bag, peering as inconspicuously as he could over Dean's shoulder. "What is it?"

"Someone's left a letter in my locker," Dean said. He turned the envelope over in his hands. On the front was Dean's name, written in Anna's neat handwriting.

"Are you going to open it?" Castiel asked, forcing his voice to sound normal.

Dean swallowed, then shrugged. "I guess."

He tore into the envelope and fished out the letter. It was short, Castiel knew, only a few words. He had agonized for hours over what to write in that first letter, and finally he'd settled on something he wanted to tell Dean, every time he caught the other boy speaking ill of himself.

_Dean Winchester, you are exceptional._

Dean's eyes were running over those words now, and his cheeks were turning pink. He hurriedly shoved the letter into his bag. "Just some ad for the next school dance."

Castiel nodded, a little bit disappointed by the lie. He didn't think this was the sort of thing Dean would hide from him. Then again, he always got flustered when Castiel complimented him, so maybe the letter had made him uncomfortable?

Still, Castiel caught Dean pulling the letter out of his bag no less than three times that day. Every time, he would blush and toss it back into his bag, but the last time, he lingered a bit. Castiel would swear he saw him smile.

Time to compose the next letter.

Three weeks passed and Castiel lost count of how many letters he had written Dean. They were all relatively short and he never signed them (not even as 'your secret admirer', as Anna had told him he should. Castiel didn't think it was necessary, as he it was obvious from the content of the letters that he admired Dean and did so in secret).

Anna, meanwhile, only had Castiel deliver four letters. They were all long, however, more than a page each, the longest of them five pages. Castiel was tempted to read through them, to find out what Anna could possibly be telling Ruby that would take up five pages, but he never did. He only labeled and delivered them.

Then, one day in class, he got a text from Anna.

_Smth went wrong w/ last letter. Meet me under bleachers after school_

Castiel stared at his phone, perplexed. He and Anna had traded their letters that morning, and he had delivered Anna's letter into Ruby's locker as usual. He had made sure, as always, that there was no one around. What could possibly have gone wrong?

It was the last class of the day, but it passed with an agonizing slowness. Guilt gnawed away at Castiel's gut. What had he done wrong? Would Anna be mad at him? Or worse, would she be crying?

When the bell rung, Castiel was so nerve-wracked that he left the classroom without telling Dean goodbye or where he was going. He all but ran to the bleachers but when he climbed under them, there was no one there.

Still anxious and now out of breath, Castiel sat down on the grass and leaned against the nearest post. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

"Cas?"

Castiel opened his eyes. Dean was standing in front of him, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He was tugging at the bottom of his shirt with one hand, the other squeezed around the strap on his backpack so hard, his knuckles were turning white.

Then, before Castiel could ask what he was doing there, Dean got down on his knees, leaned forward, and kissed Castiel.

It was a short kiss, barely even a peck, and Dean was pulling away just as Castiel's brain was catching up with what was happening.

Dean was looking at him expectantly. He should say something.

"Why did you do that?"

Dean cringed and Castiel immediately wanted to take it back. "I didn't read anything into your letters that wasn't there, did I? You wanted this?"

Castiel felt the blood drain from his face. "My letters?"

"The ones you've been leaving me for weeks," Dean clarified. "The last one said to meet you here after school."

"It..." Castiel's mouth snapped shut. _Anna_. It all made sense now. Except why Dean would want to kiss him, of course. "I didn't write that part."

"But you did write the rest of it," Dean said.

Castiel nodded.

Dean smiled. It wasn't the cocky smirk he wore so often, or the charming grin he aimed at his admirers. It was soft, small, and honest. If it were possible to fall in love with a smile, this would be it. "I thought as much."

"You did?"

"It was pretty obvious, dude. No one else I know talks like that."

He was right. Castiel had taken every precaution in making sure he wouldn't be found out, but he had failed to take into account that Dean would be familiar with his way of speaking, if not the handwriting.

"But I like it," Dean added. "I like you."

"I like you, too," Castiel echoed weakly. There was so much more he wanted to tell Dean - so much more he had already told him - but why talk, when he could be doing something much more interesting?

Their second kiss was both longer and wetter than the first. Then they kissed for the third, fourth, fifth time, until Castiel's rear became numb from sitting on the cold grass, and Dean complained that his legs were getting stiff from crouching.

They stood up and Dean offered Castiel his hand. Castiel accepted without hesitation.

When Castiel walked to his locker the next morning, Anna was waiting for him.

"Knew it would work," she sing-songed.

Castiel shot her a glare. "I don't remember asking for you interference."

"You're glad for it, though." The worst thing was, Castiel couldn't disagree, and judging by the smug look on Anna's face, she knew it. "For the record, Ruby and I have been hooking up for two weeks."

"Then why did you keep sending her letters?"

Anna shrugged. "Some people like to sext, I prefer the old-fashioned way."

Castiel blushed. "You've been using me to send her porn?"

"Erotic literature," Anna corrected. "And don't knock it 'till you try it."

She smiled sweetly and walked away, a lazy swing in her hips. She stopped at Ruby's locker on her way and Castiel watched in disbelief as the two of them disappeared into the girls' bathroom.


	12. Make a Connection

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #5 - Bartender AU

I feel like I'm kind of cheating here since Dean being a bartender isn't really the focus. But he still is a bartender, so I'm giving myself a pass.

* * *

**Make a Connection**

* * *

"All right people, let's keep this simple! You get two minutes to talk, then the bell rings and the gentlemen move to the next table to the right. No lying allowed; remember, you're here to make an honest connection. Aaaand go!"

The bell chimes. Dean rubs at his temples. Even from behind the bar, Becky's cheery voice is rings his ears. He can't understand how she can stay so peppy week after week. Or why she would even want to, it looks exhausting.

He grabs his rag and starts wiping down the counter, sneaking a glance at the newest crop of speed daters. Most of them are much older than Dean, a few around his age. There has never been an advertised age limit on the speed dating service at The Trickster but most of the people who show up are somewhere between thirty and forty-five years old. People who have gotten sick of waiting for a relationship to happen but aren't technologically savvy enough to sign up on a dating site.

Most of them will meet someone tonight, go on a date or two and then show back up at The Trickster next week. Those who don't meet anyone usually flock to the bar, looking for a liquid distraction from the disappointment. No one meets their future husband or wife speed dating, and most people give up after a while.

But then, there's an exception to every rule. In this case, the exception is Castiel Novak, and he is here tonight just as he's been every Tuesday night for the last three months. He has never, as far as Dean knows, met anyone he liked (sorry, 'made a connection with'). He ends up at the bar every time, orders a glass of whiskey, drinks it and leaves. Occasionally, Dean manages to strike up a conversation. So far, all the information he's gotten is Castiel's name and the fact that he has long since grown bored with the whole speed dating process. Why he still shows is a pure mystery. Not in the least because the guy is freaking gorgeous.

Hell, if Dean thought he had a shot, he would have offered to take Castiel home himself, but he'd rather not hit on what is most likely a straight dude at his place of work and risk making a scene. This is Kansas, not San Francisco.

Still, Castiel is easy on the eyes. He has no shortage of women who approach him at the bar after the speed dating is over, looking to get his number or even just his company for the night, but he turns all of them down.

The bell chimes three times, shaking Dean from his thoughts and signaling the end of the last date. People stand up and start circling each other, looking for whoever they liked best out of what were probably a series of sub-par dates. All of them, that is, except for Castiel, who heads straight for the bar.

"One whiskey, coming right up," Dean says before Castiel can even open his mouth.

"Thank you," Castiel mutters, sitting down on a bar stool and leaning against the counter.

Dean grabs a bottle of whiskey in the good but relatively cheap range. By now, he knows Castiel's tastes. "No luck tonight?"

"You could say that. At least no one threw a drink in my face."

This is actually a thing that has happened, no less than three times. It never stops being hilarious.

"Can I ask you a question?" The words pop out of Dean's mouth unbidden but Castiel just shrugs. "Why do you keep showing up here? Plenty of people ask you out but you never seem interested, so why even go?"

"Plenty of _women _have asked me out."

Dean puts the glass of whiskey on the counter with more force than intended, making both him and Castiel flinch at the noise of glass slamming on wood. "Uh, sorry."

Castiel takes his glass, eyeing Dean warily. Shit, this isn't good.

"I mean," Dean sputters, "that doesn't answer my first question. You know you're only here to meet women, right?"

"Yes, thank you, I had realized." At least Castiel's shoulders aren't as stiff. He doesn't look relaxed exactly, but neither does he look like he's about to bolt. He takes a sip of his whiskey, and says, "My mother promised that she wouldn't raise a fuss about me being gay if I came here every week. To see if my tastes will change, I suppose."

"Man, that sucks."

Castiel grins wryly. "At least she doesn't pretend I don't exist like my father does."

"No, she just wants to change you," Dean says, aiming for sarcastic but coming off more bitter. Maybe he shouldn't be playing psychiatrist here; it's not as if his issues with his own dad went away just because the old man croaked.

"Maybe she is right," Castiel muses, staring at the whiskey in his glass. "Maybe it would be easier if I took one of those women home."

"Or you could take me home." Again, the words slip out completely without Dean's permission. Looks like his brain to mouth filter is taking the night off.

Castiel is looking at him, eyes wide. Now would be the time to play this off as a joke, but Dean can't for the life of him find the right words. The last thing he wants is to come off as cruel, considering that Castiel basically just came out to him.

"Was that a flirtation?"

It's a perfect out but Dean doesn't really want to take it. It may just be his imagination but Castiel looks hopeful.

"Kind of," Dean admits. "But for your information, I'm usually a lot smoother."

Castiel's expression breaks out into a wide, beautiful smile. "I believe that."

"So what do you say? My shift ends at eleven."

"It's a date."

* * *

Castiel stops showing up at The Trickster on Tuesday nights after that. Some of the women notice and Dean overhears them wondering who finally snatched him up. He ignores them and keeps wiping down the counter, grateful that his job does not require sitting for any prolonged periods of time.

For the record, Castiel's mother hates him.


	13. Just Hold Me Tight

**A/N:**

30 day cheesy trope challenge: #11 - Meet in a dream

Note that it doesn't say 'Meet *for the first time* in a dream'. In other words, this is another one I'm kinda-sorta-not-really cheating at. Title is taken from Dream a Little Dream of Me by The Mamas &amp; the Papas

* * *

**Just Hold Me Tight**

* * *

"I think this counts as -ngh- abusing your powers."

Cas pressed a kiss on Dean's shoulders, still thrusting inside him, slow and deep. His hand was on Dean's cock, but his grip was loose. "It would hardly be the first time."

Dean whined and reached behind him to grab Cas' ass and make him move faster. Cas didn't falter from his steady rhythm. Damn angelic strength.

"Where are you, anyway?" Dean muttered.

"Memphis, Tennessee."

Cas wrapped his arm tighter around Dean's chest and pulled him even closer. They were pressed together, back to chest, not an inch between them but in the real world, they were miles apart. It hurt to think about in ways Dean didn't particularly want to examine, so instead he thrust his hips impatiently back, goading Cas to speed up.

He finally complied, thrusting with force and precision, aiming for Dean's prostate and hitting it on every other try. It felt good, washing over him in waves, but the pleasure was muted by the unreality of it, pushing him to the edge of release without ever quite tipping him over it. Dean's head lolled back and he grappled uselessly to get some sort of hold on Cas, but they were both sweaty and slippery. Cas' hand tightened on his cock and Dean was completely blindsided as he came in just a couple of thrusts.

After what felt like half an eternity Dean stopped coming, and he felt Cas pulling out of him. He was weirdly tired, considering that he was already asleep, and he laid down, signaling for Cas to join him.

"Have I tired you out?"

"You know I only came 'cause I was humping the mattress in my sleep, right?"

Cas laughed and laid down next to him. "I will be sure to rectify that the next time we meet."

Dean desperately wanted to ask when that would be but he held his tongue. Cas was wrapped around him, their legs tangled together and breaths mingling, and it felt real.


	14. As in Olden Days

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #24 - Mistletoe

Haha this is only like tangentially related to the prompt since the mistletoe itself is completely incidental but I just really wanted to write Literal Old Married Couple Dean and Cas. Fun fact: this is the second time I've written Dean as having Alzheimer's Disease. Seems I can't leave my job behind, even in my writing.

Title is taken from Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas aka the best Christmas song of all time.

* * *

**As in Olden Days**

* * *

The Sunny Meadows Retirement Home does a poor job of living up to its name. It was built in the outskirts of Detroit, between a small office building and a construction site that seems perpetually under construction. There aren't very many meadows near, nor very much sun for that matter.

But Sunny Meadows is a unique establishment - a retirement home for hunters and other members of the hunting community. Not very many hunters reach their twilight years but those that do have a safe haven at Sunny Meadows.

Castiel followed his husband there two years ago, less than a month after Dean. He didn't handle living alone well. His body is tired and well-worn, and he is plagued by constant aches in his joints. His vision is starting to go as well but his mind remains sharp, for which he is thankful. The same cannot be said for Dean.

They share a bed and every morning when Dean wakes up, he looks at Castiel in utter confusion. It is heartbreaking but Castiel does not have much time to mourn, because then Dean's expression will inevitably break into a wide, happy grin. He doesn't always recognize Castiel but he still loves him. It is more than Castiel could have hoped for.

Some days are better than others.

"It's snowing."

Castiel glances over at Dean, who is sitting by the window, peering out. "Yes. It's December tenth, Dean."

"Mm." Dean turns looks around the room, like he's just noticed the Christmas decorations. "Who put those up?"

"The nurses did," Castiel reminds him. "Sam helped."

"Of course he did," Dean says. He doesn't say anything else but Castiel can guess well enough what he's thinking.

"He'll be here after lunch."

Dean and Sam haven't spent as much time with each other in the last decades as they did when they were younger but they made sure to keep in touch every day, if only to make sure they were each still alive. Sam comes to visit at Sunny Meadows as often as five times a week. It won't be long before he's joining them, but for now he can manage by himself.

Dean gets up from his chair. He grabs his cane and walks over to Castiel. "Hold on." He reaches out and fixes Castiel's crooked glasses. "Always liked a man in glasses."

He smiles, his crow's feet deepening as he does. Castiel loves all of Dean but he holds a particular fondness for those little wrinkles. But then they lessen again as Dean's smile drops.

"Is this worth it?" he asks. Castiel doesn't need him to specify, Dean has asked this question many times, especially since Castiel started to show signs of age.

Being human means deteriorating as you get older. A slowly dying body with all its aches and frustrations seems a terrible trade for the divine powers of the angels and an eternal, ageless existence.

But had he stayed an angel, Castiel would never have gotten this life with Dean. Castiel has never regretted his decision. Not for one second.

And if he needs to remind Dean of this every once in a while, well, that's fine.

"It is."

Dean's eyes search his face for some hint of a lie and when he finds none, he leans forward and kisses Castiel. They are both grinning when they pull apart, giddy like newlyweds on their honeymoon, if not quite as energetic.

"Oh."

Dean is looking up and Castiel's follows his gaze. A small sprig of mistletoe is hanging above them. Castiel recalls one of the nurses hanging it there, explaining with a wink that it was to ward off evil spirits. Castiel is about to explain but Dean cuts him off unknowingly with another kiss.

"Merry Christmas, Cas."

"It's December tenth."

"I'm trying to create a moment here, you idiot."

"Sorry," Castiel laughs. "Merry Christmas, Dean."


	15. Got So Much to Share

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #29 - Clothes Sharing

So this isn't so much clothes sharing as it is clothes stealing. Boy, I'm really playing fast and loose with these. But since I'm the only one who's complained so far, I guess it's fine. Title taken from Do You Wanna Touch Me by Joan Jett.

* * *

**Got So Much to Share**

* * *

Castiel might be in love with his roommate.

He didn't want to be. Dean was, as far as he knew, straight and even if he wasn't, there was no guarantee that he might be interested in Castiel. But Dean was very lovable. He was also devastatingly beautiful and had a body that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods but that was neither here nor there. Thankfully, he wore layers and loose-fitting clothes more often than not, even if he did have a distressing habit of walking around just before bedtime with only his underwear on.

But today. Today he was wearing a single, tightly-fit t-shirt. It stretched across his chest and when he raised his arms, which happened far more often than Castiel thought was necessary, it raised to reveal a small sliver of skin.

It was also very familiar.

"Is that my shirt?"

"Huh?" Dean glanced down at his chest. "Uh, yeah. I must've grabbed it by mistake. Do you want me to return it?"

He reached for his collar and Castiel realized, to his horror and delight, that Dean was about to take the shirt off.

"No!" Castiel cleared his throat. "I mean, it's fine."

Dean shrugged and dropped his hand, and Castiel shoved his irrational disappointment aside. He had been the one to ask Dean to keep the shirt on, after all.

* * *

Two days later, it happened again. It took Castiel longer to notice, since he was careful not to let his eyes stray too far downwards around Dean, but Dean seemed determined to test his resolve by finding every excuse he could to bend over (it wasn't on purpose, Castiel was sure of that, but at times it certainly felt like it).

It wasn't until Castiel found himself staring at Dean's ass through those form-fitting jeans as he bent over to retrieve a pencil that he realized it.

"You're wearing my jeans." It was impossible for Castiel not to notice now. They were riding very low on Dean's hips.

Dean straightened. "I hope you don't mind? I ran out of clean pairs."

"It's all right," Castiel said hurriedly, before Dean could suggest that he return them now. Castiel wasn't sure he had the strength of will to refuse him this time. Dean had very nice legs. "Just ask next time."

"Sorry," Dean said. "It's just I'm used to living in tight quarters with my brother."

Castiel nodded. He considered asking Dean not to bend over so much while wearing such tight jeans but he decided against it.

He really needed to relieve some of this tension, and soon.

* * *

Castiel wasn't quite sure whose house he was at, nor did he care. He was pleasantly tipsy and surrounded by attractive people, several of whom he'd noticed giving him an appreciative eye. One of those people was Meg Masters. She shared a couple of classes with Castiel and they got along well. She had not been shy in expressing her interest in him.

She grinned at Castiel when she saw him looking but as he started to make his way over to her, he was intercepted by Dean.

Or rather, Dean crashed into him. Castiel stumbled, his arm instinctively going around Dean's waist to hold them both steady. Dean leaned against him, far too close for comfort.

"Hey man," Dean said, cheerful and just a bit too loud. He was holding a glass of beer that overflowed every time he moved his hand. "I didn't know you were coming to Bela's. We coulda gone together."

"I wasn't sure I was coming," Castiel lied. In truth, he'd been hoping to avoid Dean tonight. He didn't want to drink around Dean, wasn't sure he could trust his judgment.

"But you're here." Dean grinned and leaned even closer. He had freckles. Castiel forced himself to look away. "Let's go-"

Castiel didn't get to find out where Dean wanted to go because at that moment, someone shoved at Dean, causing his beer to spill. Castiel's shoes were splashed but he was better off than Dean, whose jeans got drenched.

"Shit," Dean mumbled, looking down at himself. "I just got a refill."

"You should wash this out," Castiel advised.

"Right."

Then Dean was pulling Castiel through the drunk crowd. His hand felt warm and clammy and _perfect_ in Castiel's hand and for a few seconds, Castiel completely forgot why letting Dean lead him away to a remote location, presumably to remove his pants, was a bad idea.

The bathroom was empty when they got there and Dean all but shoved Castiel inside, then locked the door.

"I should probably..." Castiel trailed off and gestured weakly at the door but he went ignored.

Dean started taking off his jeans and Castiel, resigned to his fate, focused his gaze on the ceiling. He heard the shower start, then stop half a minute later.

"You okay, man?" Dean asked.

"Fine," Castiel replied through clenched teeth.

"Then catch."

Castiel looked down just in time to catch the sopping wet jeans. Automatically, his eyes flickered further down, and his heart leapt up to his throat.

Because Dean was wearing a pair of very familiar white briefs. _Castiel's_ white briefs. There was no doubt about it, that was the same pair of underwear Castiel had worn just last week. Castiel had had sex after wearing that underwear. He had _come_ in that underwear. Dean's cock was now nestling against the same bit of fabric that Castiel had once rubbed against until he climaxed.

The thought of it was impossibly, unbearably arousing. But arousal was not the right reaction to finding out your roommate has been stealing your underwear.

"Are those my briefs?" Castiel asked, with all the outrage he could muster (which, admittedly, was close to none).

Dean shrugged. "I figured, since you didn't have any issues with the jeans-"

"That's different."

"Is it?" Dean looked amused. "You're looking kind of flustered, Cas. Are you that angry with me?"

Anger was probably the furthest thing from what Castiel was feeling. "I-"

Castiel cut himself off as Dean took a couple of steps closer. The bathroom seemed to have gotten impossibly small and warm.

"I don't think you are," Dean said, head cocked to the side. He wasn't looking Castiel in the eyes but rather just below them. "But you tell me, Cas."

With an almost audible snap, Castiel felt his self-control give way, and he launched himself at Dean, crashing their lips together. Dean responded immediately and enthusiastically, pulling Castiel closer by the lapels of his shirt.

They broke apart, panting.

"Finally," Dean groaned.

Castiel frowned. "What?"

"I was beginning to think you weren't interested."

It took Castiel's lust-addled mind a couple of moment to catch up. "Is this why you've been stealing my clothes?"

"Borrowing," Dean corrected him.

"You have a very strange method of seduction."

Dean grinned. "Worked on you, didn't it?"


	16. The Unholy Union

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #12 - Arranged Marriage AU

Whee Star Trek AU! Dean as Kirk, Cas as Spock, and Sam as McCoy or whoever I guess (he's on the crew, is the point). Also, let's ignore that as a Vulcan, Cas would have a higher ESP rating than any human.

* * *

**The Unholy Union of Antler Boy and the High Priestess**

* * *

"This is a nice change of pace."

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw his First Officer frowning slightly. "Judging by your tone and expression, you are joking. I fail to see the humor of the situation."

Dean snorted. "You would."

Dean failed to see what _wasn't_ funny about this situation. As a gesture of goodwill to the Federation, the newly joined Demonians had insisted on a wedding between their High Priestess and one of the Enterprise's crew, to symbolize the union of Demonia and the Federation.

For once, Dean had not been first pick for the groom. The Demonians valued extrasensory perception over any other quality, and so they'd picked the member of the crew with the highest ESP rating.

Which just so happened to be Sam.

So here they were, at the altar, Sam all spruced up in traditional Demonian garb, which consisted of a loincloth, some jewelry, a ridiculous, antler-like hat, and little else. The barely suppressed bitchy frown on his face was what truly made the outfit.

Next to him stood the High Priestess, Ruby. Demonians were humanoid, nearly indistinguishable from humans save for their eyes, which were an oily black. The overall effect was kind of unsettling but Ruby was smoking hot regardless. If Dean weren't heads over heels in love with his Vulcan First Officer he might be kind of jealous of his little brother.

Speaking of, said First Officer was still frowning, probably trying to figure out what Dean found so funny about Sam getting married to an alien priestess. Dean turned his attention back to the altar, trying and failing to suppress a fond smile.

Ruby began chanting. The universal translator could only translate one word in ten, and Ruby punctuated each sentence with a sound that could only be described as a strangled moan. At the altar, Sam reached down to adjust his loincloth.

"How long is this thing again?" Dean whispered from the corner of his mouth.

"Five hours," Cas replied. His voice was perfectly neutral and yet Dean could hear the disapproval and the 'Shut up Captain, this is Serious Business' in every syllable.

Still. Five hours was a long time. Thankfully, there was Sam's antler hat and loincloth to look and laugh silently at. And if that got boring, well...

Dean glanced at his First Officer. Cas looked every bit the perfect Vulcan, save for those bright blue human eyes, and the slight green flush in his cheeks. Seemed Sam wasn't the only one affected by Ruby's chanting.


	17. All Out of Breath

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #18 - Orphan AU

Hahahaha this was supposed to a be a drabble oh well. I feel like this should probably be even longer - like a couple of chapters, at least. Title taken from The Sinking Man by Of Monsters and Men.

* * *

**All Out of Breath**

* * *

Dean still sometimes imagines Dad coming back. He'll walk through the door, maybe a little tired or bruised but otherwise fine, and Bobby will bitch at him for taking so long and not calling, and then he'll tell Dean and Sam to get in the car, and they'll be together again.

But Dad isn't coming back. At sixteen, Dean is too old to be entertaining these fantasies. Dad's dead, they torched his corpse in Bobby's backyard a month ago. And any day now, it's going to stop hurting.

* * *

Sam and Dean are enrolled at Lincoln High School. Dean knows right from the first day that he is going to hate it. He doesn't fit in but he doesn't want to, anyway. The students are all children and they know nothing of the world. They see Bobby as the town drunk and a total nut to boot, and their opinion of Dean isn't much better. Sam, at least, has made some friends, but everyone avoids Dean. That's how he prefers it.

If it were up to him, he'd drop out of school now, head back out on the road. Keep hunting. Sam would be fine, he might even be happier with Dean gone. But Bobby won't let him, won't even consider it. He threatened to disassemble the Impala's engine if Dean tried to run off.

So Dean stays in Sioux Falls. Stays in school, even if he's too stupid for it. Every test or paper he turns in comes back with a big, fat F scrawled across it.

"This can't go on," Bobby tells him. "You're a smart kid, Dean, too smart to be getting these kinds of grades."

Dean keeps his head down, doesn't say anything.

"Maybe... maybe you should talk to someone."

"What, like a shrink?" Dean scoffs.

Bobby frowns. "Don't give me that look, boy. It's clear you're not dealing with John's death-"

"I'm not talking to some fucking shrink," Dean snaps. "I'm dealing just fine."

"And when I see you doing anything else than moping around, I'll believe you." Bobby sighs deeply. "I'm just trying to help."

Dean wants to tell him not to bother. Or that if he really wants to help, he should let Dean leave. But he knows better. "I'll study harder. You don't need to have my head examined."

Bobby agrees to give him a couple of weeks to get his shit together by himself. He doesn't look like he has much faith in Dean's ability to do so.

* * *

Sam offers to help him study. As if Dean doesn't feel like enough of a loser. He's still got too much dignity to let his kid brother tutor him, but Sam's offer does give him an idea.

* * *

Castiel Novak is practically a genius. Dean's only been at Lincoln High School for a month and even he knows that. He consistently gets the highest grade on every test, and he's almost never seen without a book in his hand. He may agree to tutor Dean just because it will make his college application look better.

Dean approaches him during lunch. Castiel usually sits by himself in some far off corner of the cafeteria, and that is exactly where Dean finds him.

"You're Castiel Novak, right?"

Castiel nods, eyes still glued to his book. Dean figures it's as friendly a greeting as he's gonna get, and sits down.

"I need help with some of my classes. Well," Dean amends, "all of them. Are you up for tutoring?"

Castiel looks up. "You are Dean Winchester."

Dean blinks, honestly surprised that Castiel knows his name. "Uh, yeah, I am."

"You live with your uncle, Bobby Singer."

"How do you..." Dean cuts himself off. He remembers now being introduced in homeroom by the teacher, who told the class that Dean lived with his uncle. He hadn't bothered correcting her. "I do."

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?" Dean asks, irritated. "My parents croaked, that's why."

"Oh." Castiel closes his book. "So you're an orphan."

"Man, don't call me that. I'm not Oliver fucking Twist."

Castiel cocks his head to the side. "I live with my uncle as well but my parents are alive."

Dean waits for more information but Castiel doesn't offer any more, and he sure as hell isn't going to ask. "So are you gonna tutor me or what?"

* * *

Castiel agrees to tutor him, citing the exact reason Dean had been counting on: tutoring a troubled student will look good on his college application.

But as the days and weeks pass, and Dean's grades start climbing from steady Fs to respectable Bs and Cs, and even the occasional A in math, Dean begins to suspect that it's more to do with reasons of loneliness.

Because Castiel, as far as he can tell, has no friends. Dean's not exactly in a position to judge but it seems kind of odd to him. Even the dweebs hang out with other dweebs. Cas is serious, yes, and he's yet to get even a single reference Dean has made, but he's also smart and funny, and a blast to be around if you aren't put off by his brand of weird. It doesn't make sense that Dean is the only one willing to spend any time with him.

Until one day, it does.

Dean doesn't notice the shove coming until he's sprawled on the floor. He blinks a couple of times, shocked that his reflexes would fail him like that, but it's been weeks since he's actually had to keep his guard up.

He glares up at the kid who shoved him, this mountain of a teenager wearing a Letterman's jacket (of course he is). A gaggle of guys stand behind him, giggling like morons.

"What the hell, dude?" Dean demands as he stands up.

"You were in my way," the mountain says with an ugly sneer on his face. "Maybe next time you'll watch where you're going, fag."

Dean is more confused than angry at this point. He hasn't had any trouble from the student body since he enrolled at Lincoln High; most of them don't even spare him a glance when they walk past him in the hallways anymore. So where the hell did this come from?

"You thought we wouldn't notice you hanging around Novak?" the mountain continues when Dean doesn't say anything. "Has he sucked your cock yet?"

The guys behind him start laughing again, to Dean's growing bewilderment. It wasn't even that good an insult.

"Which one of you takes it up the ass?" one the other guys asks.

When Dean still doesn't answer, they give up and leave, the mountain muttering something probably insulting.

Dean is in a sort of daze the rest of the day. At least this explains why Cas doesn't have any friends: even if he isn't gay, just the rumors would be enough to keep most people away. But what if Cas is actually gay? Couldn't he at least have told Dean, so he knew that people would be making assumptions about them?

Not that Dean really cares what the people at school think about him. These are the same assholes that think Bobby's a nutjob, so fuck 'em. The only people whose opinions matter to Dean are Sam and Bobby. It would be something else if they thought Dean was gay...

It occurs to Dean then that if Cas is gay, then their fellow students might not be the only ones who know. What if the reason he lives with his uncle is because his parents kicked him out for being gay? From what little Dean's heard of them, they sound very religious. They wouldn't have named their kid after some obscure angel if they weren't.

This causes another revelation for Dean. If Bobby _did _think he was gay, would he kick him out? He won't let Dean leave on his own but if he thought he was some kind of deviant, he might change his mind.

This is it. The perfect opportunity for Dean to ditch this town, and this life. He could pick it up where Dad left off. Saving people, hunting things. No more Lincoln High, no more dumb as fuck jocks giving him shit, no more study sessions with Cas.

Dean stops short in his fantasy. He can't say that he relishes the thought of leaving Cas behind, but Cas was fine before he came along. He'll be fine after Dean leaves.

* * *

Dean and Cas meet up in the school library after the last class of the day, just as has become usual. Cas is standing out front when Dean arrives.

"Are you gay?" Dean asks. Now that he's got a plan, he's not wasting any time by beating around the bush.

"...Yes," Cas says after a brief hesitation, his expression calm and betraying nothing. "Are you going to beat me up?"

Dean ignores the sudden pain in his chest at Cas' question. "Nah, I'm not that big an asshole."

"Okay." Cas ducks his head for a moment in thought. "Are you going to ignore me, then? People might make assumptions about us."

"I don't care," Dean says, not bothering to tell Cas that assumptions have already been made. He doesn't need to know that.

Cas nods, his lips wavering a bit and for a moment, Dean is terrified that he's going to start crying, but he doesn't.

"Do you wanna get out of here? The library closes in an hour, so we could probably study for longer if we go to my place. My uncle won't be home until later."

That last part is a lie. Bobby is almost always home these days, either out back in the yard working or around the house.

If Cas suspects Dean of lying or having an ulterior motive, he doesn't show it. "That sounds fine."

They leave together in Dean's Impala. Cas doesn't have a car, he usually takes the bus to school and in the past weeks, Dean's been giving him a lift home.

There's no sign of Bobby when they reach the Salvage yard but when Dean strains his ears, he can hear someone bustling around back.

"We can study in the living room," Dean says once they're inside. "I'm gonna go to the kitchen, grab something to drink. You want anything?"

"Just water would be fine."

Dean heads to the kitchen, ostensibly to get drinks but really to gather his thoughts alone. The simplest plan would be to jump Cas; if Bobby caught them kissing, he'd probably throw Dean out on his ass in a microsecond. The only problem is that kissing Cas would involve... well, kissing Cas. But it isn't that big a deal, really. Dean can easily close his eyes and pretend Cas is a girl.

His mind made up, Dean goes back to the living room. Cas is sitting on the couch, several of his text books already open and spread around on the table.

"I think we should start with math," Cas muses, flipping through his notebook. "What do you say, Dean?" He looks up and frowns. Dean must look as nervous as he feels. "Are you all right?"

It's now or never. Dean sits down on the couch, much, much closer to Cas than necessary. Their thighs are pressed together and Dean can feel it when Cas stiffens.

"What are you doing?"

Dean licks his lips and doesn't answer. He sees Cas' eyes dart downwards to follow the movement and, emboldened, leans in. He stops less than an inch away from Cas' lips and when Cas doesn't pull away, he closes the gap.

The first thing that comes to Dean's mind is that there's no mistaking Cas for a girl. The second thing is that it really isn't so bad. Cas' lips are chapped but they're warm and, best of all, responsive. It's a slow, tentative kiss, and both boys keep their mouths closed, simply pressing their lips together.

Then Dean wants, _needs_, more. He turns and swings his leg across Cas' lap so he's straddling him, not touching anywhere but the lips yet, but then he puts his hands on Cas' chest and feels it heave, feels his heart pounding underneath. Cas groans against his lips and opens his mouth and all of a sudden the kiss turns wet and hot and _filthy_. Cas tugs him down and, _hello Cas' hard-on_.

Dean breaks the kiss and he may or may not whimper something that sounds like Cas' name.

"Dean," Cas whispers feverishly.

Someone clears their throat and they both freeze. Dean feels his heart drop down to his stomach. He can't even bring himself to turn his head, to see Bobby standing in the doorway. This is exactly how he planned it but he still feels queasy with fear.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Bobby says gruffly and Dean hurriedly climbs out of Cas' lap, keeping his head down, still too scared to look Bobby in the eye.

"We're so sorry, Sir," Cas stutters and Dean feels another lurch in his stomach at hearing Cas defending him, even though he sounds frightened. Even though the whole mess is Dean's fault in the first place.

"Go wait outside for a sec, kid," Bobby tells Cas. "I gotta talk to Dean."

"Please don't be angry," Cas pleads.

"I ain't angry, now scram."

Cas still doesn't leave right away. He bends down to catch Dean's eye, silently asking for an okay. Dean nods, then averts his eyes again. He feels a terrible mix of fear and shame, and any moment now he's probably going to throw up all over Bobby's ratty couch.

Dean hears Cas close the door behind him as he steps outside.

"Seems like a good kid," Bobby mutters. He doesn't sound mad and Dean finally works up the courage to look at him. He's scratching the back of his neck, looking more awkward than angry. He sighs. "What were you trying to pull, Dean?"

Dean swallows. "I wasn't trying to pull anything."

"Don't. You knew I was going to be home. There are plenty of more private places you could have been doing that. You wanted me to catch you."

"I didn't-" Dean cuts himself off. Bobby's just going to see through that lie anyway, just like the rest of Dean's plan.

"Is this..." Bobby pauses and if he looked awkward before, it's nothing compared to now. He's actually _blushing_. Dean doesn't think he's ever seen Bobby blush, unless it was from screaming at John. "Is this you coming out? 'Cause I gotta say, I did not see that coming."

He's trying to lighten the mood. Dean's fear has completely disappeared, leaving only shame behind, and it feels like he may choke on it. "I'm not gay," he finally mumbles.

"But you like that kid?"

Dean is probably blushing too. "Cas. His name's Cas."

Bobby nods, looking satisfied. "Well, then, I think you'd better let Cas know that you ain't in trouble."

"Okay," Dean says numbly. "I... um, I should probably drive him home?"

"You do that."

Dean stumbles out the door a minute later, after packing down Cas' text books. He finds Cas leaning against the Impala, looking pale and harried.

"Is everything all right?" he asks anxiously when he sees Dean.

"It's fine," Dean says. He witnessed Bobby's acceptance first hand and he still has trouble believing his own words. "He was fine with it."

Cas sighs and all but collapses against the Impala. "Thank God." He glances at Dean and smiles nervously. "I was worried that he might do something drastic."

"What, like kick me out?" Dean tries to joke.

"That was one possibility I entertained," Cas admits.

"Me too."

Dean looks at Cas, really looks at him. He's still deathly pale and his hands are trembling. Some of it is probably adrenaline and fear for his own fate, but he was also worried about Dean. Worried enough to defend him from someone who for all he knew could react violently. It's the first time, Dean realizes, that he's had someone other than family care about him so much. The realization makes his heart clench almost painfully.

He doesn't deserve Cas and the least he can do is tell him the truth. "I wanted him to."

Cas' nervous smile drops. "What?"

"I wanted Bobby to kick me out," Dean repeats. "That's why I kissed you."

"I don't understand."

Dean tugs at the strap of his backpack, then realizes that it's Cas' bag and hands it to him. Cas accepts it wordlessly, without taking his eyes off of Dean. "After Dad died, I just wanted to drop out of school and hit the road. Bobby wouldn't let me. I figured, if I could make him mad enough, he might..."

"Make you leave," Cas finishes.

"I'm so, so sorry, Cas."

"It's fine."

Dean shakes his head. "No, it's not."

"No," Cas agrees dully. "It's not. You used me."

"I didn't think about it like that."

Cas sighs. "I suppose you wouldn't."

"Are you mad at me?" Dean can't help but ask. He's well aware how much he sounds like a little kid but right now, he kind of feels like one.

"I'm not mad," Cas says. "Just disappointed."

The words, and the heavy, serious way Cas says them, startle a laugh out of Dean. Cas' sorrowful expression turns pissy and Dean starts laughing harder. "I'm sorry," he giggles

Cas scoffs. "I changed my mind, I _am _mad at you."

"Sorry," Dean repeats, still laughing. "It's just... that was such a _mom _thing to say."

"It was not," Cas protests, but he isn't frowning anymore. It looks like he's fighting back a smile.

"It really was." Dean gets the laughter under control but he's still grinning madly. "I don't have a mom and even I know that."

Cas tilts his head. "What happened to them? Your parents?"

Just like that, Dean's mirth evaporates. He really doesn't want to answer that but he owes Cas all the answers he can give. Within reasonable limits. "My mom died in a fire when I was four. My dad died in a hunting accident a couple of months ago." It still sounds so unreal to Dean. It almost doesn't hurt to say, simply because it's so absurd.

Dad would never have been okay with Cas, Dean thinks suddenly. He never would have reacted as calmly and reasonably as Bobby. He wouldn't have tried, in a roundabout way, to assure Dean that it was fine. He probably would have thrown Sam and Dean in the car and driven off until Sioux Falls was a dot in the rear-view mirror and the problem - Cas - was out of sight.

"Dean," Cas says quietly and Dean realizes with a start that his eyes are wet. He's crying.

Wordlessly, Cas holds out his arms and even though Dean knows he doesn't deserve Cas' comfort, he still steps into his embrace. He wraps his arms around Cas' waist, buries his nose in his neck, until all he can focus on is the smell of Cas and the feel of him, wrapped around Dean like he never wants to let him go.


	18. Let Me Take Your Order

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #1 - Coffee Shop AU

* * *

**Let Me Take Your Order**

* * *

Times like these, Castiel had to wonder whether Anna was right about him.

"Cassie, I love you," she'd say, usually somewhere between her fourth and fifth glass of wine, "but you are a creep."

Not that Castiel was all that sure what constituted a creep, but staring at someone for ten minutes straight without their knowledge was probably it.

In all honesty, it was difficult not to stare. For one, there were no other customers in The Daily Grind at the moment. The only person there, save for Castiel and the lone customer, was Alfie, who was out back fixing the espresso machine.

Also, this customer, whose name Castiel had failed to get, was possibly the most beautiful man Castiel had seen in his life. It wasn't just the way he looked, but the way he carried himself. The way he licked his lips thoughtfully every so often. The way he squinted at the book in his hands (God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. As if it weren't enough for him to be handsome, he had to have excellent taste in books as well), before catching himself and relaxing them again. The way his hand softly cradled his cup of coffee as he picked it up to take a sip.

It was mesmerizing. Castiel blinked and forced himself to look away, before the man caught him looking. He recognized the growing ache in his chest and he refused to allow himself to fall in love with someone whose name he did not know.

It was for the best. The guy was probably straight, anyway.

* * *

Castiel had only just managed to put the handsome, Vonnegut-reading man out his mind the next time he showed up at The Daily Grind. At the time, Meg was working the counter, but Castiel could still hear and recognize the man's voice.

After he was gone, Castiel approached Meg. "Did you catch his name?" he asked, in what he hoped was a casual tone of voice.

Judging by Meg's delighted smirk, he'd failed. "As a matter of fact, I did. Why, Clarence? Need to know what to write inside the little hearts in your notebook?"

Castiel frowned. "I don't own a notebook."

Meg rolled her eyes. "You're no fun. His name is Dean."

"Dean," Castiel repeated softly.

It suited him.

* * *

Dean began to show up regularly at the Daily Grind, every Tuesday and Thursday at two. Castiel made certain that he was working the counter at that time.

Dean always smiled at him when he placed his order. Castiel tried to tell himself that it meant nothing, he probably smiled that way at everyone, but he couldn't help feeling giddy.

Then one day, Castiel finally worked up the courage to smile back. Dean's own smile widened in return, and Castiel spent the rest of the day in a joyful haze.

Another time, Dean told him, "Thanks, Cas" when Castiel brought him his coffee. After that, Castiel felt like he was floating on clouds, right up until Alfie broke the espresso machine. Again.

Four weeks, five weeks, six weeks after Dean had become a regular, and Castiel began to suspect that his attraction to Dean might be reciprocated. Dean's eyes certainly seemed to linger a lot, and the smiles had gotten slier, more intimate.

And then Dean showed up with a girl.

* * *

When Dean entered the shop, Castiel raised his hand in greeting. He dropped it as a pretty redhead entered right after him, and Dean leaned down to whisper something in her ear.

_Of course_ he had a girlfriend. Someone as impossibly beautiful as Dean could never be single. The world was not so kind.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said as he approached the counter with his cute, redheaded girlfriend. He was smiling the same as always. He may as well have reached inside Castiel's chest and pulled out his heart.

"Hello," Castiel replied, carefully professional and distant.

Dean's smile waned somewhat. He glanced at his girlfriend and back at Castiel, looking confused. "Um. Could I have a double espresso?"

"And a vanilla frappuccino for me, please," Dean's pretty redheaded girlfriend added.

"Coming right up."

For one frightening moment, Castiel thought Dean was going to stay at the counter to talk, as he sometimes did while waiting for his coffee, but his girlfriend tugged at his sleeve and the two of them sat down.

Castiel focused on preparing the drinks. He lost himself in the simple actions, moving almost mechanically. The last thing he wanted was to give Dean any more of his attention

He finished the order and turned back to the counter. Dean and his girlfriend were huddled close together at their table, whispering intently. Dean looked agitated and was blushing slightly, while his girlfriend was gesturing in Castiel's direction.

Castiel cleared his throat. "Your order is ready."

Dean's girlfriend shot him a warning look and got up herself to fetch the drinks.

She smiled sweetly at Castiel once she reached the counter. "So here's the deal. My friend over there is crazy about you and wants to have your babies, but he's too chickenshit to do anything about it."

Castiel blinked. "Pardon?"

"You like him, right?" the girl - who Castiel was beginning to suspect was _not_ Dean's girlfriend - asked.

Castiel was too shocked to do anything but nod.

"So give him your number." The girl grabbed her frappuccino and took a sip. "This is delicious. My name is Charlie, by the way, in case you need to know for your wedding toast."

She walked back to her table, leaving Dean's drink pointedly still on the counter. Castiel stared into the dark liquid, trying to force himself to make sense of Charlie's words.

"Uh." Castiel looked up. Dean was standing there, hands in his pockets, his cheeks tinged pink. He was looking somewhere in the vicinity of Castiel's shoulder. "Sorry about that. Charlie's kind of... intense."

"Do you like me?" Castiel blurted.

Dean's eyes snapped up to meet Castiel's own. He licked his lips. "Yeah. I do."

"Oh."

"_Oh_?" Dean repeated incredulously. "That's it?"

"No," Castiel said. He felt odd; calm and at once two seconds away from panicking. His stomach was knotting itself and his heart felt like it was trying to leap out his throat. "I like you, too."

Dean swallowed. "Oh."

"Could I-" Castiel hesitated. He didn't know much about asking people out. He'd rarely been in this sort of situation. "Could I get your number?"

"Yeah." Dean's face broke into a wide, beautiful grin. "Okay."


	19. Heaven and Hell

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #14 - Stripper AU

Fair warning: I know nothing about strippers.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

When people ask Dean what he does for a living, he never shies away from answering. Maybe he should, sometimes - Jess' grandparents, for one, could probably have done without knowing - but he doesn't ever want to feel like he's hiding it. He isn't ashamed of being a stripper.

If anything, he's proud. He is, after all, the most requested dancer at Heaven &amp; Hell - for three months and counting now.

"Actually, three months looks to be it."

Dean glares at Ruby, who is busily applying glitter to her chest. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Means you're not the most requested anymore." Ruby grins at him and puts away the glitter brush. "You've been replaced."

"By who?"

"New kid, goes by the name Castiel. Blue eyes, crazy sex hair, thighs that could crush a baby's skull."

Dean frowns. "Ugh."

"What?" Ruby asks defensively. "I don't mean, like, an alive baby or anything."

"We're not getting into this discussion again," Dean warns her.

"Whatever," Ruby sighs. She adjusts the straps on her top. "How do I look?"

"Like a cheap hooker."

Ruby smacks his shoulder. "You're an asshole."

"You love me," Dean says.

"You wish, honey." Ruby pinches Dean's cheek, smirking when he bats her hand away. "By the way, Castiel is up to dance before me."

"Seriously?"

Ruby nods. "He's probably getting on stage in a minute. Now stop bothering me and go check out the competition."

She's definitely mocking him but Dean is going to follow her advice anyway. He takes his number one spot very seriously.

Heaven &amp; Hell is crowded as usual for a Friday night. Dean spots a few familiar faces, and takes care not to let any of them see him. He likes dancing for these people, likes talking with most of them, but he's on a mission and he will not be sidetracked.

He's no sooner found himself a nice, secluded spot in the shadows than the music starts and the next dancer strolls out. Dean can't see his eyes from where he's standing but he does have crazy sex hair and powerful-looking thighs. It must be Castiel.

The track playing is something kind of mystic-sounding, heavy on the drums. Not something Dean would personally pick, but good enough to dance to. Castiel grabs the pole, swings around it with the ease of someone who's been doing this for years and jumps straight into a Brass Bridge. The crowd cheers.

Dean hates this guy.

* * *

All hope Dean has for Castiel's popularity being a new-meat thing evaporates somewhere around Castiel's fourth month at Heaven &amp; Hell. Not only does Castiel remain the most requested, he's more popular than Dean was at his best.

Dean doesn't get it. Sure, the guy is handsome and a good dancer, but he's a charisma black hole. He doesn't get any jokes, he never smiles, always just looking serious and vaguely confused, and he never socialized with the other strippers.

Well, except Meg. They're kind of friends, weirdly enough. She calls him Clarence, presumably out of fondness. And he sometimes hangs out with Anna between shows. He and Gabriel have gone out for drinks a couple of times.

Okay, so it's just Dean he doesn't socialize with. Not that Dean cares. Like, at all. Why should he? He hates Castiel, so it's only natural that Castiel feel the same about him.

* * *

"I saw your set last night."

Dean freezes, right in the middle of pulling his cowboy boots on. He knows that voice. He just can't believe it's addressing him.

But as he looks up, he sees Castiel staring straight at him. It's the first time he's really looked Castiel in the eye and for one second, Dean's heart stops beating. He hadn't realized just how incredibly blue his eyes were.

"It was good," Castiel says.

Dean finishes pulling on his boot and straightens. He feels like his world has been flipped around. Could it be that Castiel really isn't as bad a guy as he's been imagining? "Uh, thanks."

"Although your Half Chopper could use some work," Castiel adds. "And your Flying Cupid was downright sloppy."

Never mind, Castiel is an asshole. "Oh, yeah?"

Castiel nods seriously. "But I wouldn't say your form is your biggest issue. That would be the way you interact with your audience."

Dean really can't believe the audacity. Castiel hasn't been at Heaven &amp; Hell half as long as Dean. Where does the little shit get off, lecturing him? "What the hell is wrong with the way I interact with my audience?"

"You make yourself too readily available. There is no mystery, no intrigue."

And then he's gone, leaving Dean fuming.

It isn't until Dean is about to go on stage that something occurs to him.

"Did that asshole call me easy?"

* * *

As much as Dean loves his job, there are parts of it he could do without.

Like Alastair.

Alastair has been around since Dean first started working at Heaven &amp; Hell, and he took immediate and creepy attention in Dean. He's never done anything strictly against the rules - he's never touched Dean, never touched himself inappropriately in front of him, never asked him to do anything sexual - so Dean hasn't reported him to Gabriel yet.

It's just... the way he _looks_ at Dean makes his skin crawl. He feels naked around Alastair and not in the fun way. It's like everything he is gets stripped away and all that's left is the scared, inexperienced teenager he used to be, who would let guys feel him up at gas station bathrooms for a quick buck.

But Dean is a damn professional, so when Alastair requests a private dance in the backroom, he doesn't tell him to go screw himself. The private sessions are his main source of income, after all. He cannot afford to start turning away clients.

He gives Alastair his paid-for hour and not a second more. He dances, he makes eyes, but he doesn't go near Alastair. Alastair doesn't seem to care - about any of it, really, he just leans back in his chair, a small smirk on his lips.

Dean goes back to the dressing room a few hundred bucks richer and ready to call it a night. He kicks off his boots and starts removing his vest. All he wants is to jump in the shower and then sleep for days

"Dean? Are you all right?"

Dean groans. Just what he needs, his greatest enemy sticking his nose in his business. "I'm fine, okay? Just tired."

"There's no need to get defensive," Castiel grumbles. He's already dressed to go home, wearing a tan trench coat that kind of makes him look like a flasher. "I wasn't accusing you of anything."

"That would be a first."

"Pardon?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," Dean snipes. "You've talked to me once since you got here, and that was to criticize my form."

Castiel frowns. "I merely wanted to help you improve-"

"Well, I don't need your help," Dean cuts in. "I've been doing this for years, okay? I don't need some greenhorn telling me what to do."

"Perhaps this is why your form is still so sloppy after years of practice. Because you refuse to accept any advice."

For one moment, Dean swears he sees red. The exhaustion and distress seep from his body, replaced with fiery anger. He clenches his fist, wanting to punch Castiel right in his smug face. He can't remember why that would be a bad idea.

Castiel regards him calmly. "I have to wonder how you've managed to keep your job here if this is the way you react to criticism."

That is _it_.

Dean launches himself at Castiel.

* * *

"That is... not how I expected this to go."

Dean's voice is quiet, hoarse, and from the corner of his eye, he can see Cas turn his head to look at him.

They're on the floor in the changing room, which is thankfully carpeted. Dean has aches in places he hadn't even known existed. He's pretty sure he's got rugburn on his forehead, not to mention on his knees, but he doesn't even care. His entire body feels like a big, limp noodle.

"I agree," Cas says. "I did not expect you to be quite so eager to bottom."

Dean scoffs. "Shut your face. You loved it."

"I did."

Dean turns to face Cas, who is grinning slyly at him. "You're still an asshole."

"Maybe." Cas' grin softened. "But I made you feel better."

Dean can feel himself blushing and he looks away from Cas and his smug, beautiful face and his stupidly blue eyes. He can admit, even if it's just in the privacy of his own head, that Cas is right. He _does_ feel better.

But he can't say that out loud. Instead, he quietly takes Cas' hand and squeezes it once.


	20. Do What You Want

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #27 - Body Swap

Title taken from Do What U Want by Lady Gaga because I couldn't think of a better title. WARNING: This is pretty much PWP and there is some dubious consent (magic made them do it) but rest assured, they both want and enjoy it, even if they're a little freaked out by the circumstances.

* * *

**Do What You Want**

* * *

"So, how do we..." Dean trailed off. He couldn't even say it. How could he do it if he couldn't say it?

His own face stared blankly back at him. Seeing himself wearing Cas' trademark expression would never not be weird.

"According to the text the Men of Letters translated, this is the only way to break the curse," Cas said. Which, Dean knew that already. Hearing it again in Cas' dispassionate voice wasn't making it any easier.

Dean could feel himself blushing. He kind of wanted to go get a mirror, see what Cas looked like all flustered. "Are we sure that joining means... _that_."

"The text spoke of a physical joining. There was also a practical illustration," Cas reminded him.

Whoever came up with this spell had to have been touched in the head. Either that or really, really narcissistic.

"How do you want to do this?" Dean asked.

Cas blinked and tilted his head.

Dean sighed and resisted the urge to slam his head against the wall. "Do you want to top or bottom?"

"I don't care," Cas said, in a voice that indicated that he had no idea why he _should_.

"Then I top."

Not that Dean relished the idea of literally fucking himself but, well, better that than to get fucked _by_ himself. His dick wasn't what you'd call small.

"So do we just-"

Dean cut himself short when Cas, sick of waiting for Dean to get with the program already, started to pull off his t-shirt.

"You will lay down on the bed," Cas instructed. "I will prepare myself, then I will ride you until we reach completion."

Dean swallowed. Having Cas give him instructions in that clinical tone, with Dean's voice, from Dean's lips, should _not_ be doing it for him. Yet, his dick was perking up. He blamed Cas' body, the kinky bastard.

"Do we have to be naked?" he croaked.

"The closer we are and the less fabric between us, the better chance we have of getting this right."

"You don't get much closer than my dick in your ass," Dean muttered, but he started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Technically, it will be my dick in your ass."

Dean cringed. "Don't remind me."

He tugged off his boxers and threw them on the floor along with the rest of their clothes. Cas was already naked, and rummaging through Dean's nightstand. He came up with a small bottle of lube.

"Get on the bed, Dean," he said impatiently.

Dean scrambled to obey. He laid down, careful to avoid looking anywhere in the proximity of Cas' dick. Feeling it harden, knowing that it wasn't his own, was weird enough. Apparently knowing that he was about to have sex was enough to get his motor going, at least in this body. He wasn't sure if that made the situation more or less awkward.

Then Cas was climbing onto him, straddling his legs. Dean kept his gaze locked on the ceiling, as if that way, he could ignore the fact that it was his own body on top of him. His own fingers getting wet with lube and stuck someplace no one had any business sticking their fingers.

Maybe making Cas bottom had been a bad idea.

"Dean." Cas' voice was remarkably steady, considering that he was fingering himself open. "You need to prepare as well."

"What?"

"You should be fully erect when you penetrate me."

"Oh." Dean licked his lips. "Right."

Hesitantly, he reached for his - Cas' - dick. It was already somehow half-hard. A little narrower than Dean was used to, maybe about as long.

Dean closed his eyes. He couldn't completely shut Cas out - he could still hear him breathe and groan and whimper - but maybe he didn't want to. It wasn't like he'd _never_ thought about Cas this way. He'd just always pictured Cas in his own body.

He tightened his grip on his cock and started moving his hand, slowly at first as he got used to the weird sensation of touching someone else's dick and feeling it. It didn't take much to tease himself into full hardness. Knowing that it was _Cas_ straddling him, never mind the circumstances, was enough.

Just as things were getting good, Cas batted his hand away. "Open your eyes, Dean."

Dean stubbornly squeezed his eyes shut tighter. "Why?"

"Eye contact is necessary to make the switch," Cas reminded him.

Dean sighed and cracked one eye open. He caught Cas' eyes. His own eyes but for one moment, Dean could have sworn they were blue.

Then Cas was lowering himself onto his dick and all he could see were stars. They both groaned, and Dean's hips automatically thrust up to meet him, sheathing himself fully inside Cas.

Inside himself.

If it didn't feel so good, Dean was pretty sure that realization would have been enough to permanently kill his boner.

Cas started to move, slow and careful. He reached out and grabbed Dean's shoulders to steady himself. Dean's hips bucked up again and they moved clumsily against each other for a few moments before their rhythms matched.

It felt good. Incredible, even, but it didn't feel like enough. On a sudden impulse, Dean got up on one elbow and tugged Cas closer. Then, eyes still open (and didn't that feel incredibly awkward), he kissed Cas, hoping to somehow get his wordless message across. That even if he hated the situation, he didn't hate that he had to do this.

He wasn't sure if Cas got the message but he returned the kiss briefly, before pulling away.

"Dean, please," he panted. "Touch me."

Dean obeyed, still moving his hips against Cas as he got a hold of his dick and started pumping it. Cas' eyelids fluttered like he wanted to close them but he kept his eyes open, locked on Dean's.

Cas groaned and his hips faltered in their rhythm, and that was all the warning Dean got before Cas was coming, shooting over his stomach. A sudden numbness overtook him and he had one second to realize what was happening before he found himself in his own body again, riding the after waves of a powerful orgasm.

He blinked down at Cas, who looked just as confused as he felt. "That's it?"

"It seems so."

He lifted his hips and Dean was suddenly and viscerally aware of the fact that he had _Cas' dick inside him_.

It... didn't feel terrible. He was a little sensitive, from that orgasm that he didn't actually get, but it wasn't as painful and intrusive as he'd been expecting. Experimentally, he squeezed around Cas.

"Dean." Cas' voice was strangled. "Please don't do that, or I won't be able to stop."

Dean licked his lips. "Do you want to stop?"

Cas made a noise half-way between a whimper and a moan. Dean decided to take that as a no and started moving again. His hips stuttered as Cas' dick hit something inside him that made his cock twitch in an effort to get hard again. Before he could ask Cas what the hell it was, Cas pulled him in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Dean whimpered as Cas hit that spot inside him again and again, on every other thrust. He was painfully sensitive but at the same time he wanted more, wanted Cas to keep pounding into him until his dick got hard again.

But Cas was already close and after a few more thrusts he was coming, for the second time in less than five minutes.

Lucky bastard.

Dean climbed off of him, wincing when he felt come trickle down his thighs. "Next time, we're using a condom."

"Next time?" Cas asked. Maybe it was wishful thinking but he sounded hopeful.

"Yeah." Dean grinned. "And I'd better get to actually come then."

"At least twice," Cas promised.

There was a next time, and Cas did keep his promise.

Two times over.


	21. Another Cliché, Baby

**A/N: **30 day cheesy trope challenge: #2 - Idol/Fan

Oops meant to have this up before the Eurovision song contest. Oh well.

In this, Castiel is Polish (since Novak is a Polish surname, or so says my research) and Dean is English (because I didn't feel like changing his name, but he still needed to be European). I just really wanted to write a Eurovision AU, you guys. Anyway, I don't know if Misha Collins can sing but either way, I would have much preferred him over Poland's actual entry.

All Polish in this was translated using Google translate, so apologize if there are any errors. Title taken from Denmark's entry - Cliché Love Song

Also, as disappointed as I am that my country didn't place higher (15th place, which is still better than we've done in a while *sigh*) I couldn't be happier with the winner. Conchita Wurst, you are queen of my heart C:

* * *

**Another Cliché, Baby**

* * *

Dean had never been a fan of Eurovision. He'd watch it, mostly at Sam's insistence, and as long as there was booze involved, it would usually end up being a good time. It was terrible music, yeah, but it wasn't _completely_ irredeemable. Some entries were silly enough to be entertaining and occasionally, a talented singer would sneak in between all the tone-deaf disasters.

Like the singer for this year's entry from Poland, known only by his stage name 'Castiel'. As Dean watched him march onto stage during the second semi-finals, he dismissed him as another pitchy pretty boy - all wide blue eyes and scruff and little actual talent. But then Castiel opened his mouth and begun to sing. And Dean fell in love.

The song itself was kind of bad. A vaguely rock-ish sounding ballad with clumsy lyrics about love and peace (hopefully they sounded better in Polish), but Castiel's voice just sold it. It was surprisingly gruff and deep but perfectly in tune and powerful all the same.

After the competition was over - Poland made it to the finals, no surprises there - Dean went and hunted down every scrap of information he could find on Castiel online. There wasn't much. Not even Castiel's real name. Just the fact that he had studied singing someplace in Denmark and that one of the back-up singers was his sister.

There wasn't much information, but there were pictures. Hundreds of them. Most of them taken by fans, some professionally shot in between. And an unforgettable spread of pictures Castiel's sister had taken as Castiel prepared back-stage - bare chested, hair messy, an unguarded smile on his face.

Come Saturday night and the Eurovision finals, Dean was pumped in a way he hadn't been in years. No matter how it went, he'd at least get to see Castiel sing tonight. But Dean still rooted for him, make no mistake. He'd never been so invested in this competition before.

Castiel didn't win. Or rather, Poland didn't, and Dean tried not to be too disappointed. He resolved to put Castiel out of his mind. Allowing himself to obsess over someone unattainable wouldn't do his already lacklustre love life any favours.

All right, so maybe he occasionally looked up Castiel's live performances on YouTube. Maybe he sometimes went through Google image search, and maybe he spent a little too much time staring at a particular picture of Castiel in an open shirt, grinning shyly at the photographer. Maybe he sometimes thought about Castiel when he was alone at home, or in the Underground on his way to work, or when sitting at the pub, ostensibly listening to Sam talk about his day.

Maybe he was still just a little bit in love with Castiel. Enough so that when he saw the announcement that Castiel would be coming to London to perform in a few clubs around the city, he thought for one second that he might honestly faint.

He bought a ticket to see Castiel that Sunday. And then, because he was a giant, pathetic dork, he looked up and practiced how to tell Castiel "you have a beautiful voice" in Polish.

Yeah. Like he said, pathetic.

The concert was amazing. It was a low-key affair at a small basement club, with only a few dozen people in attendance. Castiel played some original songs, as well as a stripped-down version of his Eurovision song, which he introduced with a sardonic, self-depreciating smile.

Why the hell had Dean ever even tried to convince himself he wasn't in love with this man?

Castiel finished his set to thundering applause and took an awkward bow, before exiting the stage. He took a seat by the bar, and was immediately flocked by people. Dean sighed, dismayed, and took a sip of his beer. He could wait until the crowd around Castiel thinned out a bit.

But it didn't thin, not even a little bit. Dean considered going over there anyway, but he didn't want to be just one voice in a crowd to Castiel. Better not to say anything at all.

What had he been expecting to happen, anyway? That he'd say a single sentence to Castiel in garbled Polish and Castiel would fall in love with him?

Dean chugged the rest of his beer and headed out back. He'd technically quit smoking a while ago but he still carried a half-empty pack out of habit. He'd feel shitty about it in the morning but right now, he really needed a cigarette.

He leaned against the wall, and rummaged through his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. The pack he kept on him was getting kind of beat up and the cigarettes themselves looked kind of limp. Not exactly appetizing, but any port in a storm.

"Could you spare a light?"

Dean's head snapped up, his heart already speeding at the sound of that voice, even before he spotted its owner.

Castiel tilted his head at him in greeting, a quizzical expression on his face and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. "Well?"

"Should you be smoking?" Dean blurted, to his immediate horror and mortification.

"Probably not," Castiel admitted, grinning slightly. At least he didn't look too upset by Dean's stupid comment. "It is a vice I rarely indulge but something about the air in London makes me crave nicotine."

His voice was somehow even more beautiful when not filtered through a microphone, his subtle accent all that more noticeable.

"So could I have a light?"

Dean startled, and laughed nervously. "Uh, yeah, of course."

He lit his Zippo and Castiel leaned over to light his cigarette. For one moment, Dean could feel his breath on his hand, and he bit back a whimper.

"You were really good," he said instead. "In there, I mean. Singing."

What was the matter with him?

"Thank you," Castiel said.

Dean drew a deep breath, then muttered, "Masz piękny głos "

Castiel looked confused. "What?"

"Masz piękny głos " Dean repeated, a little bit louder.

"Oh." Castiel smiled. "What is your name?"

"Dean."

"Dziękuję, Dean."

"Huh?"

Castiel laughed. "Thank you, Dean."

"No, um, problem." Dean shrugged, trying to ignore the growing heat in his face.

"You know," Castiel said conversationally, "I am in London for another couple of weeks. I would love to have some company from a native. Someone who would show me around."

His voice was almost teasing. No, not teasing. Flirtatious.

Was Castiel flirting with him?"

"Would you be willing?" Castiel's eyes raked over Dean's body, lingering pointedly on his lips, before meeting his eyes again.

Okay, so. Definitely flirting.

"Uh..." _Say yes, you moron_. "Sure. Yeah, whatever."

Castiel grinned and reached into his pocket. He handed Dean a small slip of paper. "My number. You will call?"

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak and not sound like an idiot.

"I should get going." Castiel took a long drag of his cigarette, before putting it out on the wall. "See you soon, Dean."

He slid past Dean, brushing against him in a way that could not be accidental. Dean stared after him, then looked down at the card in his hand.

"His name is _Jimmy_?"


	22. Hangin' With the Hula Dancers

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #10 - Deserted Island

I feel like half of this probably sucks a lot 'cause I wrote half of it drunk (I'm still really kinda really drunk ssshhhh). But I didn't wanna make you guys wait any longer (I can always edit later, right?). I'm really sorry about the stretch between updates, I'm just really not feeling spn at the moment.

Title taken from On a Tropical Island from Adventure Time because why the heck not.

* * *

**Hangin' With the Hula Dancers**

* * *

Dean peered up at the clear blue sky, wishing he'd had the forethought to pack some sunglasses. Of course, it wasn't like he'd had a whole lot of time to prepare. Not two hours ago they'd been back at the bunker, when Charlie had decided they should take a short vacation - somewhere you couldn't get without an angel's assistance, she'd declared. So they'd let Cas pick, telling him only that it should be somewhere sunny.

He'd picked a deserted tropical island whose name none of them could really pronounce. But the where didn't really matter, because there was a beach, there was sun, and the sea was warm and comfortable. They'd splashed around a bit in the ocean - none of them had dared swim out, since Cas confirmed that there were sharks ("although statistically speaking, you pose a much greater threat to them than they do to you", "yeah, tell that to Quint", "I don't know any Quint").

But the sun was a little too strong and even though Sam had remembered to pack sun screen, they'd soon had to retreat into the shade. Even Cas had taken off his trench coat, at the insistence of the rest of them, and was only wearing swim shorts. If it were up to Dean, it'd be a speedo, but he'd take what he could get. Cas was never this naked outside of the bedroom.

"Hey, so," Charlie said, "if you guys were stuck on a deserted island, and you could only bring three things with you, what would they be?"

Cas squinted at her confusedly. "We are on a deserted island."

"I mean if you couldn't just up and fly off," Charlie explained. "What would you bring with you so you could survive and stay sane?" She gestured at the wide, empty beach in front of them. "For example: I would bring a first aid kit, sunscreen, and my laptop."

"Wouldn't the battery just give out?" Sam asked.

"I'd have a solar powered charger, obviously."

Sam frowned. "But how would you get food?"

"Well..." Charlie scrunched up her nose in thought. "I could pick berries and fruit."

"And live on that for the rest of your life?" Dean snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that."

Charlie scoffed. "All right, smartypants, what would you bring?"

"Bowie knife and a tent." Dean glanced at the sky, added, "And sunglasses."

"A Bowie knife?" Sam snorted. "Come on, Dean, how many animals do you honestly think you could catch and kill with a Bowie knife?"

"A gun would run out of ammo," Dean pointed out. "And I'm good with a knife. This island we're talking about has monkeys or something like that, right?"

"And you're, what, gonna climb after them?"

"I don't see you coming up with anything better."

Sam smirked at the obvious challenge. "I'd bring a fishing pole. Let the food come to me."

"Knowing your luck, you'd catch nothing but jellyfish," Dean muttered.

"And I'd bring a tent and a first aid kit," Sam added, ignoring Dean's comment.

"Plagiarist," Charlie accused.

Sam shrugged. "You didn't say anything about not copying other answers."

"Wouldn't need to, if you weren't a filthy cheater."

"It's not cheating if there aren't any rules," Sam pointed out.

Charlie groaned and threw up her hands. "You guys are impossible. Cas, you must have a decent answer, right?"

Cas frowned. "I still don't understand the purpose of this."

"It's just for fun," Charlie told him. "Now come on, three things, deserted island. What would you bring?"

Cas hesitated, peering out at the deserted beach. Finally, he said, "I would bring you, Dean, and Sam."

Which did definitely not make Dean's heart clench in his chest. At all.

"Boo," Charlie deadpanned. "Three things, Cas, not three people."

"I don't need to eat," Cas said. "I don't need to sleep. What else would I have any use for?"

Dean could think of some things. A lot of things. Unfortunately, they all involved Cas being with him and not stuck on a deserted island, and were also very inappropriate to mention in the company of others.

"I don't know," Charlie said, "but you gotta think of something."

Cas furrowed his eyebrows in consideration. The thoughtful look didn't really suit him - made him look kind of constipated, in all honesty - but damn, if it still didn't make Dean want to wrap his arms around and give him a kiss on the forehead, anyway.

In a totally manly way, of course.

"Then I would bring a helicopter," Cas said.

There was a brief silence, and then Sam snorted.

"Leave it to Cas to be the only one to figure out a means of escape."

Charlie shook her head and smiled, before standing up. "Yeah, screw this game, I'm going back to splashing around in the shark-infected waters. Who's with me?"

Sam stood up and followed her, with Dean promising to follow right behind. After they had gone, he turned back to Cas.

"You know, you still have two things left to bring," he said conversationally.

"Am I still not allowed to bring humans?"

Dean shook his head.

"Then I would bring a video camera." Cas grinned. "And lube. Something to do before I fly back home to you."

And. Damn. Nothing Dean could really say or do to that, except pull Cas into a long, messy kiss, until Charlie and Sam started shouting at them to stop being so sappy and gross and come join them in the water.


	23. Afternoon Delight

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #15 - Office Romance AU

I'm so sorry for that title.

* * *

**Afternoon Delight**

* * *

There was something digging into the small of Dean's back. Possibly a stapler. He knew he'd be bruised tomorrow but right now, he barely noticed it. Hard to, when he was too busy trying to keep quiet as Cas tried to suck his brain out through his dick.

Or that was what it felt like, anyway. His mouth was warm and wet and perfect around Dean's cock. It was a sloppy blowjob, not a whole lot of finesse, but sloppy usually did the job faster and right now, they were on a tight schedule.

Dean bit back a moan as Cas' spit-slick finger circled his entrance, teasing at the rim but not penetrating. He tried to push his hips back, to force it in, but Cas followed his movements, leaving him maddeningly empty.

Cas pulled his mouth away. "Be still," he commanded and fuck, his voice was even hoarser than normal. It would sound like this for the rest of the day, Dean just knew it, and he squirmed at the thought of Cas answering phone call after phone call with his voice still wrecked from sucking Dean off.

"Pay attention," Cas admonished, sensing Dean's mind wandering.

"Then don't leave me hanging," Dean snapped.

Cas glanced up at him, a challenging glint in his eye. He leaned forward and swirled his tongue around the head of Dean's cock, licking up the precome that had been gathering at the tip. He kept one hand tightly gripped around Dean's hips, preventing any movement, and the other tucked in his underwear, finger back to teasing at Dean's hole.

"Cas," Dean pleaded, tugging impatiently at Cas' hair.

Cas took mercy on him and swallowed his cock down, as far as he could, at the same time pushing his finger in to the first knuckle. Dean made a punched noise, thrusting forward into the wet heat of Cas' mouth. Cas' finger chased him, burying in deeper, as far as it could. It burned a little going in, but Dean didn't care. He needed to be filled by _something_ and since it couldn't be Cas' dick - too little time and no lube or condoms on hand - his fingers were the next best thing.

It didn't take Cas long to find his prostate and he pressed at it, twisting his finger around before adding another. It was a tight fit but Dean still thrust back against them. The double sensation of Cas' fingers on his prostate and his mouth around his cock were hurtling him towards the edge, all he needed was just a little push, one more twist of Cas' fingers-

Dean's hand flew towards his mouth and he bit his knuckles to muffle his groan as he came, his knees trembling, hips twitching. Cas swallowed down every drop of him - they'd had to explain away enough suspicious stains to their coworkers - then tucked him back inside his briefs and got up.

"Our break is almost over," he said. Dean glanced down at the obvious bulge in his pants and he felt kind of guilty about not being able to return the favor. Then again, Cas kind of got off on being denied release.

"Do you want any help with that?" Dean asked anyway. Better safe than sorry, but he wasn't surprised when Cas shook his head.

They left the supplies closet separately, as if everyone wouldn't immediately be able to spot what they'd been doing just by looking at them. But let them see, Dean didn't care.


	24. Put My Guns in the Ground

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #16 - Seven minutes in heaven

This technically counts, right? Title taken from Knockin' on Heaven's Door by Bob Dylan

(Spoilers for season finale, use to decipher) Fb guvf srryf n ybg pehryre va yvtug bs gur frnfba svanyr. V jnf cerggl zhpu rkcrpgvat Qrna gb ghea vagb n qrzba (n ybg bs crbcyr ba ghzoye jrer cerqvpgvat vg) ohg vg znqr zr uryyn rkpvgrq sbe arkg frnfba naq sbe f10 fcrphyngvba svp. Gubhtu abj V'z jvfuvat V unqa'g nyernql qbar gur natry/qrzba cebzcg

* * *

**Put My Guns in the Ground**

* * *

The clock is striking twelve.

"You know, this could be our last night on earth," Dean says, in what he hopes is a casual tone of voice.

Under normal circumstances, he would never be pulling a line like that with Cas. Or any line, really, because he's not stupid. He knows Cas is too good for him, but as it may legitimately be their last night on earth, he feels like he should at least try. If Cas rejects him, at least he won't have to live with it for long.

"We have been up against impossible odds before," Cas replies. Completely oblivious, of fucking course.

"I guess," Dean says. Might as well power through. If all else fails, he can just try to shove his tongue down Cas' throat and hope he won't be pushed away. "Any idea how you wanna spend it?"

"I..." Cas trails off and straightens, eyes focusing intently on Dean.

Dean, who's been on the receiving end of plenty of Cas' stares through the years, is taken back by the intensity of it. He's about to ask Cas what's wrong, when he's suddenly backed against the wall. He barely gets out a surprised grunt before Cas' lips are on his. He's not so much kissing Dean as he is _mauling_ him, and it's kind of painful to be honest. Their teeth are knocking together and Cas is pressing too close, making it difficult to breathe.

Cas seems to realize this, as he eases up a bit and then their lips are gliding together, maybe not smoothly (it's still too desperate to be anything but messy) but it's _good_. Dean almost forgets that nothing about this scenario makes any sense until Cas pulls away.

"I'm sorry," he says, and all Dean can think is _why_? "You should have been making the first move, I know, but I was growing impatient. We don't have much time. Seven minutes, to be precise."

Something clicks in the back of Dean's brain.

"This has happened before."

Cas doesn't answer, but lowers his head to start sucking marks onto Dean's neck. Dean doesn't really need his confirmation anyway, not as much as he needs Cas' lips and tongue somewhere on him.

"Am I dreaming?" he asks. He feels Cas shake his head and, oh. "So I'm dead."

"Yes," Cas mutters.

The way Cas' breath hits his neck makes it kind of hard to concentrate, but Dean's got more questions. "Will I die tomorrow? I mean, did I die... you know what I mean."

Cas takes a lot longer to answer this time. He's got one hand on Dean's shoulder, the thumb softly stroking his collarbone. It's nice. Familiar, even if Dean can't remember this ever happening before.

"Yes."

Dean licks his lips. "Huh. Didn't think I'd end up here."

"I would never have allowed you to go back to hell," Cas says, sounding kind of insulted at the notion.

"There's always purgatory."

Cas' face is still buried in his neck, but Dean's got the feeling he's being glared at.

"Wait," Dean says, something occurring to him. "Why did you say we don't have much time?"

"Sam will interrupt us soon, and the memory will end."

"So just follow me to the next one."

"I would," Cas says, kissing Dean's neck softly. "I have before." Another kiss. "But I don't have the time right now. "

"What is this then, some heavenly booty call?"

"I think you're overestimating what I am capable of in seven minutes."

"Not the point," Dean says. "Why do you not have the time? Have somewhere more important to be?"

Cas hesitates, then pulls back, eyes flickering towards Dean's lips before focusing on his eyes. "There are still battles to be won, in heaven and on earth. I may no longer have followers, but I have a responsibility to do what I can."

"What battles?" Dean asks.

Cas shakes his head. "They're not your concern anymore."

"I could help," Dean insists, irritated.

"I know." Cas smiles; it's a small and sad thing, and Dean wants to lean in and chase it away. "But you have earned your rest. Even if I could put you back on earth in your old body, I wouldn't. I couldn't do that to you."

"So instead you're just gonna leave me stuck here."

"This isn't a prison, Dean." Somewhere outside in the hallway, a door closes, and Cas glances at the clock. "I have to go."

"Don't you dare-"

But Cas has already flown off. Dean huffs and lets his head fall against the wall with a dull thunk.

The time is seven minutes past twelve.


	25. All I Dream of Lately

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #28 - Genderbend AU

Technically more of a Cisswap or rule 63 than a genderbend. Title is taken from Closer by Tegan and Sara.

* * *

**All I Dream of Lately**

* * *

Sometimes, Deanna wondered if she was a bad influence on Cas. Then she remembered that Cas' other best friend is Meg, the woman who put 'corrupting the innocent' under special skills in her resume.

Then again, Meg had never indirectly caused Cas to sleep with Balthazar freaking Roché.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Cas said, as if she hadn't just had her first sexual experience with the most insufferable guy on campus. "You told me everyone should have had sex by the time they graduate from college, and I'm graduating this spring."

Deanna ignored the uncomfortable flare of guilt in her gut. "Yeah, but with Balthazar?"

"What's wrong with him?"

"The guy's a douche," Deanna said bluntly.

"He's my friend."

"So's Benny. And Kevin, and Samandriel, and Uriel. Okay, Uriel is kind of a douche too, but at least he's not completely obnoxious." Deanna threw her hands up. "You do realize Balthazar is going to be even worse now, right?"

Cas sighed. "I trust him to be discreet."

"Are we talking about the same guy here?"

"Balthazar can be... crass," Cas admitted, "but he's a good man, and he won't talk about what happened between us with anyone because I asked him not to."

Deanna collapsed on her bed. This was all her fault. If only she hadn't been bugging Cas about still being a virgin - she'd just been so shocked when she found out, she couldn't help it. Cas was hot, and funny, and smart. How could she be twenty-two, and still a virgin?

Well, now she wasn't. And Deanna had to admit, despite herself, that she was curious. "How was it?"

Cas relaxed her stiff posture as it became evident that Deanna wasn't going to argue with her anymore. "It was all right."

"All right?" Deanna echoed. Okay, so Balthazar may be a douchebag, but from everything Deanna had heard, he had at least earned his bragging rights.

"It was pleasant." Cas fidgeted a bit. Her cheeks were turning slightly pink. "But I'm not sure I was doing it with the right person."

"I told you-"

"Not because of Balthazar," Cas interrupted. "I just think... maybe I'm not attracted to men."

Deanna sat up in her bed. That, she had not expected. She could usually tell from a mile away if a girl was gay, or bi, or even just curious. There had been exceptions - Deanna hadn't realized anything about Bela until their tongues were in each other's mouths, but usually her instincts were right on. How could she not have realized that Cas was interested in girls, when they'd been rooming together for five months?

Then again, who said she had to be interested in girls?

"Are you into chicks, then?"

Cas frowned miserably. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I think I am," Cas amended, shooting Deanna an annoyed glare. "But how can I be sure if I've never even kissed another woman?"

An idea popped up in Deanna's mind. A stupid, dangerous idea, but as soon as she'd had it, she knew it wouldn't leave her alone until she voiced it out loud. "You could... try it with me?"

Cas looked at her blankly and Deanna felt panic start to claw its way up her throat. She shouldn't have said anything, should have kept her mouth shut. How could she think that Cas would agree? Why did she need to keep butting into Cas' sex life, anyway?

"All right."

It took Deanna a couple of moments to realize that Cas had spoken. "What?"

"All right," Cas repeated.

"Oh." Deanna blinked. Cas was just staring at her. Why was she staring? "What, now?"

"If it's all right with you," Cas said, now looking uncomfortable.

You're _making her uncomfortable, you idiot. Just get up and kiss her._

Deanna was up and halfway across the room before she even realized she'd moved. Cas got up as well, her arms stiff against her sides, neck flushing the way it always did when she got nervous. Deanna glanced down at her lips. They were pink and slightly swollen. From, she realized, kissing Balthazar just a couple of hours ago. An irrational jealousy flared up in her chest, so sudden that she almost reeled. What the hell was she getting jealous about? Cas could kiss whoever she wanted, Deanna didn't care.

But the urge to lean in and chase away every trace Balthazar had left on Cas' lips, as well as any other part of her, was still there, and Deanna had never been one to deny her urges. The first touch was soft, hesitant, but then Cas was surging forward, pulling Deanna closer so they both stumbled, grabbing onto each other to stay standing.

When they separated, they were both gasping for air.

"Wow," Deanna said. "Um. Did- did that..."

"Shut up," Cas muttered, pulling Deanna in for another kiss.

* * *

It took Deanna four weeks to realize that what she and Cas had could no longer accurately be described as experimenting. They were having sex on the regular, they always slept in the same bed, they were even going on dates; making eyes at each other over their lattes at the coffee shop and making out in the Impala after grabbing dinner together. The thought of Cas doing this with anyone else filled Deanna with dread.

When Deanna asked Cas during their weekly movie night whether they were exclusive, Cas just gave her her patented you're-an-idiot-Deanna-Winchester look. Then she grabbed her hand and didn't let go for the rest of the movie.

In retrospect, it had been a stupid question.


	26. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #7 - Stuck someplace together in winter

And the award for most derivative and yet inappropriate title goes to...

Can you guys tell I'm kind of rushing through these now? I just really want to be done before June, since I'm participating in junowrimo

* * *

**Baby, It's Cold Outside**

* * *

He can't tell if his eyes are closed. He blinks (when did blinking become so difficult?) but it's the same vast, empty darkness that greets him either way. He remembers when he first turned human, how limited his senses felt. Limited doesn't begin to describe what he feels now; blind and numb.

Well. Not quite numb. He's long since lost any feeling in his extremities but he can still faintly feel Dean's chest rise and fall against his own, soft and warm and sticky wet. He's glad for his blindness then. He remembers seeing Dean's blood bloom across the snow, staining it pink. It's enough that he knows Dean's life his draining from him, he doesn't need to see it happen as well.

He parts his lips, not without difficulty. They're frozen shut and he feels the skin break as he forces them open. "Dean."

It's the barest breath of a whisper, but in the silence that blankets them it echoes as if he'd shouted at the top of his lungs. Dean stirs against him but doesn't reply.

He licks his lips. Tries again, "Dean."

Nothing. He wants to move his hand from where it rests on Dean's waist, wants to grab his shoulder and shake him, try and force some response from him, but he can't even get his own body to respond.

"Dean," he breathes desperately. His lips are becoming difficult to move again.

Is Dean still breathing? He can't tell. Can't keep his eyes open... can't...

"Dean!"

That wasn't him. Who was it?

"Cas!"

Who...

* * *

He wakes up and it's like he just turned human all over again. Everything is so bright and yet so unclear, sounds rushing past his ears in a jumbled mess, his entire body aching.

"Cas?"

Something moves into his line of vision - someone. He blinks a few times, and finally his eyes adjusts.

"Sam," he croaks.

He can't quite make out what Sam is saying - only that he is saying something, because his lips are definitely moving. His voice blends with other voices and a high pitched, unpleasantly sharp noise.

"-in a hospital," Sam is saying, and he somehow finds the strength to focus entirely on his voice, shutting the other noises out. "You cut it close there, buddy. They lost your pulse for a minute."

He doesn't care about his pulse, how close _he_ cut it. He wasn't the one slowly bleeding out in the snow. "Dean?"

"He's fine," Sam reassures him. "Still asleep, but the doctor says he'll be awake in a few hours."

It doesn't make sense. There was so much blood. Much more, it seemed, than one person should be able to lose.

His confusion must show in his face, because Sam says, "He was pretty cut up, but his wounds were all shallow. Looked bad but believe me, the hypothermia was a lot worse."

Were it anyone else, just words wouldn't be enough. But he trusts Sam. Trusts that he cares enough about him and about Dean not to lie.

"Cas?" Sam reaches out and squeezes his shoulder carefully. "Go back to sleep, okay? I'll be here when you wake up. We both will."

Relief blooms in his chest. He closes his eyes.


	27. Not Your Lois Lane

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #21 - Superhero AU

For the record, I think Lois Lane is awesome.

* * *

**Not Your Lois Lane**

* * *

At this point, having a gun pointed at him has stopped feeling like a threat. Once upon a time, Dean may have been apprehensive about the gun barrel digging into the small of his back, but now he's mostly irritated. Honestly, there's only so many times you can have your life threatened before it stops making an impact.

And yeah, he knows he's only a mortal man and that one bullet could end it all and blah, blah, blah, but it's not like this punk is going to pull the trigger anyway. He's not scared enough, and he sure as shit ain't ruthless enough.

Dean glances at his watch.

"You sure he's gonna show?" one of the guys standing watch asks. Dean doesn't know his name, nor so with any of the other goons here, but he's thinking it might be Larry. Dude kind of looks like a Larry.

"'Course he's gonna show," the guy currently holding the gun against Dean's back says - he's a Doug, Dean decides. "When Dean Winchester gets in trouble, the Dark Angel is always there to get him out."

Dean grimaces. He really hates that this is his legacy - the Dark Angel's rescue project. The Lois Lane to his Superman. The Mary Jane to his Peter Parker. The Robin to his Batman.

It's not like he's useless, you know? He's an officer of the law. He's the one who put freaking Azazel behind bars. Not to mention half of Lucifer's cronies. He deserves a little credit, but he's not the one with the superpowers, now is he?

Okay, so, maybe he's a little bit bitter. He's allowed. This has been a very trying night, letting some third rate criminals get the jump on him like this. Which never would have happened if Cas hadn't been sending him inappropriate texts all day, distracting him. He's still kind of holding out hope that Cas might fulfill all those dirty promises tonight, provided that he shows on time for once.

And speak of the devil, something's going on outside the warehouse (and seriously, a warehouse? these idiots couldn't have picked some place a little more original for their ambush?). There's an audible scuffle, someone shout and then... silence.

"He's here," Larry whispers.

No shit, Sherlock.

"Keep calm," Doug says, jabbing at Dean with his gun. "Don't panic. We panic, he's won."

That's when the lights go out. Dean takes the opportunity to spin around, grab Doug's gun, and knock him out. Someone lets out a blood-curling shriek. Several shots go off, and Dean feels one fly past his shoulder just a tad too close for comfort.

Then someone grabs him, hauls him into a bridal carry and heads towards the exit at an inhuman speed.

Dean leans forward, whispers into his rescuer's ear, "You're late."

"I was not aware we were keeping time," Cas replies.

Though he's not really Cas with the mask on, but Dark Angel sounds fucking dorky. No way Dean's referring to his husband by any name that could belong to a Rob Liefeld creation.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut just as they exit the warehouse and leave the ground. Having guns pointed at him is one thing, but he will never get used to being flown around Detroit, soaring above even the highest skyscraper. As far as he's concerned, man was not meant to fly. Even if man happened to sprout a pair of wings, as is the case with Cas.

He doesn't open his eyes again until he feels Cas land. Then he squirms, until Cas sighs and lets him down.

"Are you hurt?" Cas asks.

"My ego may be slightly bruised," Dean says. "But I'm fine, really."

Cas frowns. "I don't understand why you object to me rescuing you. There is no shame in it. I have powers far beyond that of a mortal man."

It's an old argument between them. Try as he might, Dean can never be okay with Cas always swooping in and rescuing him. He isn't used to it. Before he met Cas, he took care of his problems on his own. Maybe he walked away from some cases with a scar or two, but that was the point. He always walked away, alive to fight another day. He was a soldier, not a damsel in distress.

Not a bargaining chip.

He means to tell Cas this. What he says instead is:

"I'm not Lois Lane, you know."

"You're not- what?"

"Lois Lane," Dean repeats, annoyed. "And you're not Superman, for the record."

"I never said I was," Cas says, looking confused. "Dean, I don't understand-"

Dean scoffs. "Don't give me that bullshit cutesy I-don't-understand-your-pop-culture-references' shtick. I know you know Superman, okay? We watched Lois and Clark together, dude. I know you get it."

"I do," Cas says. "What I don't 'get'," and Christ, he actually does the finger quotes. Why does Dean love this dork again? "is why you are so angry with me for saving your life."

"Because you always do!" Why is this so hard for Cas to grasp? They haven't been married for long, sure, but Dean at least gets that marriage is supposed to be between equals. One individual shouldn't hold all the power. That isn't healthy and believe you, Dean knows unhealthy relationships. "It's always you swooping in and beating the bad guys to pulp."

Cas' brow furrows and dammit, Dean refuses to be distracted by his husband making a cute face. He's beyond that, really. "I don't understand."

"You don't understand why I feel like a loser when you're always the one doing the saving?"

"I don't understand why you think it's only me saving you," Cas says. "I may 'swoop in', so to speak, more often, but you save my life every night." Cas' expression softens, and he continues, "You gave me a home when I had never known one. You love me, even though I was born different." His wings shift, as if in demonstration. "And you do your share of 'swooping in', Dean. You just don't pay any notice to it, because to you it isn't heroics. You're just doing your job."

Either it's getting really warm on this windy rooftop, or Dean is blushing. He opens his mouth, to argue some more, to protest Cas' assessment, but he can't get out one word. Cas smiles at him, like he knows exactly what he's thinking, and kisses him.

"It's getting late," he mutters as he pulls back, but not far enough so that Dean can't feel the breath hit his lips as he speak. "We should go home."

And hell, Dean can't really argue with that. Instead, he pulls Cas in for another kiss.


	28. We Had to Learn How to Bend

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #17 - Noble/Peasant AU

Note the tag: there ain't historical accuracy here for shit. Also, if this seems sloppy, it's because it was written as part of JuNoWriMo. I did read over it and edit it, but, y'know, still kind of hurriedly written. Title taken from I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz

* * *

**We Had to Learn How to Bend**

* * *

The stables always seem abnormally quiet at night. It's strange that a place that could be so lively during the day should be shrouded completely in silence at night. And it is silent - silent enough so that Castiel can hear his heart thumping inside his chest, racing with excitement and fear. He shouldn't be out here. He's been close enough to getting caught enough times this week.

But he needs to see Dean. Seeing him during the day is different, they can only share a few courteous words under the watchful eyes of Castiel's mother and siblings. Any one of them would be likely to have Dean removed from their lands, in one way or another, were they to find out the truth about their relationship. It's a risk that Castiel is almost unwilling to take, but his will is weak when it comes to Dean and he can't help but indulge this.

Dean is already waiting for him in the innermost stall when he arrives. He looks tired but as soon as he spots Castiel, his face lights up. Castiel will never stop being amazed that someone could look at him like this, so full of love and affection.

"Hey," Dean mutters. Castiel kneels next to him in the hay and they kiss once, brief and sweet, in greeting. "What took you so long?"

"I had to wait until Gabriel had fallen asleep," Castiel explains. "I think he may be beginning to suspect something."

Dean looks unworried. "Let him wonder."

"I would rather not," Castiel says. They both know that Dean stands more to lose if their relationship were found out - his life, if it were the wrong person. Raphael and Michael would not hesitate to have him hung for sullying a nobleman.

Dean, maddeningly enough, doesn't seem to hold his life in any high regard. No matter how Castiel tells him that he is everything, Dean never takes him seriously. He will blush and mutter something about Castiel not being very smart for someone of such noble birth, or having a strange definition of 'everything'.

Castiel suspects that Dean even believes that drivel about his touch sullying Castiel. It's a depressing thought, that someone who could mean so much to Castiel could have such a low opinion of himself.

"Stop it," Dean demands and Castiel is shaken from his thoughts.

"Stop what?"

"Thinking unhappy things." Dean reaches up and smooths Castiel's furrowed brow with his hand.

"And how do you know my thoughts were unhappy?" Castiel asks.

Dean's smile has diminished into something small and melancholy. "You're frowning. I mean, you frown pretty much all the time, but when it's nothing serious, those little wrinkles," he taps the corner of Castiel's forehead, "don't get so deep. They're your unhappy wrinkles."

Castiel leans forwards, touching his forehead to Dean's. "You know me too well."

"No such thing," Dean mutters.

He kisses Castiel on the ear, on the jaw, on the cheek, until Castiel ducks his head to meet his lips. It seems that Castiel is not the only one unhappy tonight - Dean may rarely frown, but Castiel can tell his mood in his touch. When he's happy, he will be affectionate, recklessly so, as in his better moods, he will often tease Castiel with brief touches during the day. When he's angry, his kisses will be hot and passionate. On the rare occasion that he is angry with Castiel, there will be no touch or kisses at all.

And when he is unhappy or worried... he will cling to Castiel as if he cannot bear not to touch him. He will kiss him slow but desperate. Dean is an expert kisser (and Castiel does not like thinking how he earned his expertise) but when he is upset, his kisses will be sloppy and artless.

As they are now. Castiel pulls away reluctantly, and asks, "What's wrong?"

Dean lets out a frustrated whimper. He's got one hand on Castiel's shoulder and the other on his waist, and despite his clear unwillingness to talk with Castiel, he does not move his hands away. "Nothing."

"Dean," Castiel pleads.

"It's..." Dean shakes his head. "It's stupid. I overheard Michael talk with Naomi in the stables today." Usually, Dean will refer to Castiel's family by their proper titles, but never when alone with Castiel. It was Castiel who asked him to refrain from doing so - it makes the distance between them seem all the more real. "They were talking about you."

"Oh?"

"You and... Lady Daphne," Dean says. "I think- it sounded like they were planning your engagement."

Castiel feels the color drain from his face. "Oh."

"You didn't know?" There is no mistaking the hopeful tone in Dean's voice.

"I didn't," Castiel says. "Of course I didn't. Do you think I would keep it a secret from you?"

Dean bites his lip. "Well, it's not exactly as if I could do anything about it."

"Perhaps not but you would still deserve to know." It is clearly the wrong thing to say, as Dean begins to withdraw, removing his hands from Castiel's body. Castiel grabs them, squeezes them softly in reassurance. "But I could. Michael and Mother can talk all they like, but they cannot force me to do anything."

"People will talk," Dean points out.

"I. Don't. Care," Castiel says. "Mother has five other sons willing to continue the family line. She will be disappointed if I don't take a wife, yes, but she will not disown me. If I cannot marry you, I won't marry anyone at all."

Dean's eyes are wide and disbelieving. "Then let's get married," he blurts.

Castiel's breath catches in his throat. Surely he misheard. "What?"

"I know we can't," Dean says, "but let's anyway. We won't be joined in the eyes of the law, or the eyes of God, but if they won't accept us, then who gives a shit? We'll do it on our own terms."

And Castiel, who always followed the law to the letter before it told him he couldn't be with Dean, who always held his God in the highest regard before He told him he _shouldn't_ be with Dean... Castiel can only say, "_Yes_."

Dean laughs, breathless and rapturous. "Yes?"

"Yes," Castiel repeats.

Sudden inspiration strikes, and he draws his family ring from his finger. He takes Dean's hand and tries to put it on his middle finger, but can't fit it all the way down.

"Try the next," Dean urges.

Castiel obeys. It slips on smoothly this time. The sight of his ring on Dean's finger causes a strange fluttering in his chest and stomach. He can hardly catch his breath.

"I don't have any ring for you," Dean says apologetically.

"I don't need one," Castiel reassures him.

But Dean shakes his head. He reaches for the leather cord around his neck. Castiel opens his mouth to protest but Dean glares at him pointedly and so he stays quiet. He pulls off his amulet - the most valuable thing in his possession, given to him by his brother when they were children - and hangs it around Castiel's neck.

"I know you'll keep this safe for me," Dean says in response to Castiel's unvoiced protests. "And Sam will understand."

Dean's younger brother is the only person who knows of their relationship. He had found out by accident, but he had reacted well and Castiel is glad he knows. He would trust Sam with his life; trusts him already with Dean's life, which is infinitely more precious.

Dean clears his throat, demanding Castiel's attention. "I now pronounce us man and man. You may kiss your husband."

"Are you the holy man, then?" Castiel teases.

Dean snorts. He pulls Castiel closer by the lapels of his shirt and repeats demandingly, "Kiss."

"Not one for drawn out ceremonies, are y-"

He is cut short as Dean takes matters into his own hands and pulls him in for a heated, lingering kiss.

* * *

**A/N:** It's not my intention here at all to say that being able to get legally married is unimportant. Neither do I want to romanticize oppression, my goal here was to show that love can and will exist in spite of it.


	29. You Have to Believe

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #20 - Magic Spell

This one was kind of tricky for me since 'magic spell' is such an incredibly vague concept. I ended up going with the incredibly generic 'love spell' but whatever, at least it's done now. Just one more prompt to go! Title taken from Magic by Olivia Newton John.

* * *

**You Have to Believe**

* * *

Dean first notices that something is off on Wednesday. He's been tidying up in the bunker's kitchen (Sam cooked bacon that morning and now there are little grease splatters all over the counter), and he's so focused on the task at hand that he doesn't notice Cas is there until he turns around and Cas is, well, there.

There being about two inches in front of Dean.

Dean clears his throat. "Dude. Personal space, remember?"

Cas frowns and doesn't say anything, but he backs off and sits down by the kitchen table. He's staring at Dean, much in the same way he usually does (just because he's now human doesn't mean he still isn't just as weird and awkward. If anything, the fact that he can't fly away whenever he feels uncomfortable has made him even more of a social train wreck).

"Did you want anything?" Dean asks when the silent staring has gone on just a little bit too long.

"I..." Cas finally tears his eyes away from Dean to look around the kitchen. "I don't know. I came here for something, I think, but I can't remember what."

"Food?" Dean guesses. Cas looks kind of frumpy, like he just got up from taking a nap. He probably woke up hungry. "I was just about to cook dinner."

Cas nods slowly. Dean puts away his cleaning supplies and looks through the fridge for something he can whip up quickly. He ends up making an omelet - omelets can totally be dinner food, too - and Cas stays in the kitchen while he cooks, looking at the pan with a hungry expression.

The couple of times Dean turns around and finds Cas looking up at _him_ instead are probably just a coincidence.

* * *

The kitchen incident was kind of odd but nothing Dean couldn't shrug off. Cas is pretty much always kind of odd, it's his default state of being.

But then, Friday morning, Dean wakes up and he isn't alone.

His first instinct when he wakes up, with arms unexpectedly wrapped around him and someone''s half hard cock pressing against his hip, is to reach underneath his pillow for the knife that isn't there. Then whoever is behind him burrows his nose in the back of his neck and oh, Dean recognizes that stubble.

He turns around (which is kind of difficult, given that Cas only tightens his grip on him when he moves, but he manages). Cas is still asleep, mouth hanging slightly open. It's kind of endearing, honestly, how relaxed he looks in his sleep.

Then Dean realizes that he's referring to his adult male friend as endearing, and he snaps out of it. He pushes at Cas' shoulder.

"Wake up," he hisses. When nothing happens, he tries to twist out of Cas' grip, but to no avail.

"Stop it," Cas mumbles, eyes still closed.

Dean scoffs. "Then let me go."

Cas huffs but he opens his eyes, blinking a couple of times. He peers at Dean suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my bed," Dean sputters indignantly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Cas raises his head and looks around. "This isn't my bedroom."

"It's _mine_."

"Oh." Cas leans back onto the pillow. _Dean's_ pillow, which he _stole_, and that explains the crick in Dean's neck, if he's been sleeping without a pillow since whenever Cas crawled into his bed.

And speaking of Cas crawling into Dean's bed, now that he's awake, he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave it. Like, at all. In fact, he's burrowing even closer to Dean, and moving his hips in tiny circles and pressing his lips against Dean's neck-

"Whoa!" Dean wrenches himself free from Cas' grip, and the forceful movement sends him hurtling down on the floor.

Cas leans over the side of the bed. "Are you all right, Dean?"

"All right?" Dean echoes. "You were freaking _necking_ me! What the hell was that?"

"I believe you just said what it was yourself."

"Oh, screw you," Dean mutters before realizing, maybe not the best choice of words right now. Not when Cas was rubbing against him like an alleycat in heat less than a minute ago.

Something has to be wrong. There is no way in hell Cas would be acting like this if there weren't. Dean runs his hand through his hair. He has to do something about this. He needs to talk to Sam.

"Dean? Are you coming back to bed, or should I join you on the floor?"

_Now_.

* * *

Sam's reaction to Dean telling him about Cas' weird behavior is less than ideal.

"Dude," he says, frowning, "I'm happy for you and all, but I don't wanna hear about your sex life."

Dean feels himself flushing bright red. "It's a spell," he says, "or _something_. Cas would never come onto me in a million years if it weren't."

Sam gives him a disbelieving look and Dean just _knows_ from the unimpressed slant of his eyebrows that he's thinking something stupid and pretensions like 'the lady doth protest too much'. "Point is, we need to figure out what's wrong with Cas, before he does something he might regret."

"Like you?" Sam quips with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Dean feels fully justified in punching his arm.

* * *

An hour's worth of research leads them to a detection spell, in order to find out what's wrong with Cas. Granted, Sam did most of the research, since Dean kept getting distracted by Cas getting all up in his space and touching him in increasingly inappropriate ways. Now that he's actually touched Dean, it seems he can't stop. Cas stubbornly insists that he feels fine, and that he'd feel even better if Dean would just touch him back.

Sam takes care of the spell casting since Dean's still having his concentration thrown by being groped by a horny former angel. Whatever it turns up is impossible for Dean to spot, but Sam assures him that something is there - he describes it as colors swirling around Cas, only he's somehow able to read them.

"It's not a spell," Sam says. "More like a... curse, I think? It's brought on by Eros, for..." he trails off, squinting at Cas, who is staying happily still because Dean is holding his hand, "disrespecting his image. Which basically means, Cas grabbed him in a bad place."

"Been doing a lot of that lately," Dean mutters. "Wait, how did Cas molest an ancient Greek god and none of us noticed?"

"He touched his image," Sam explains. "A… statue, or something." He hums thoughtfully. "Hey, didn't Professor Duncan have a statue of Eros in his office?"

Dean frowns. They'd met with a Professor Duncan about a case, he recalls dimly, but that had been two weeks ago. Thinking back on it, he remembers the weird statue of a dude with a hard-on. The very same statue Dean had dared Cas to touch while the Professor wasn't looking. Which Cas had only agreed to because Dean promised to buy him a beer if he did.

Well, shit.

"How do we fix it?" Dean asks.

"It wears off on its own," Sam says, still peering at Cas. "Should take a week or so."

Dean whimpers. "A week? Dude, I can't deal with him like this for that long."

"So go somewhere else," Sam suggests. "The curse should ease up once Cas doesn't have you in his line of sight every time he turns his head."

"Why should I have to leave? Cas is the one who grabbed the angry god in the no-no place."

Sam purses his lips, clearly annoyed. "Cas is also the one who is under a lust curse. And I'm guessing that's your fault."

"Why would you think that?" Dean asks even though technically speaking, since he is the one who dared Cas to grope the statue, he is the one at fault. Although it could also be argued that since Cas agreed to the dare, it's his own damn fault.

Sam raises his eyebrow. "Well, whoever's fault this is, we're not sending Cas off by himself. Using the elimination process, that means you've got to go."

"Is Dean leaving?" Cas pipes, finally looking up from his lap, where his fingers are laced together with Dean's. He looks so sad, his eyes wide and desperate, that Dean feels his heart clench in spite of himself.

"Just for week," Dean quickly reassures Cas, squeezing his hand. "You won't even notice I've left."

"Can't I come with you?" Cas pleads.

"That would kind of ruin the point." When Cas just keeps looking at him, all hurt and confusion, he sighs. "Just don't think of it as me being gone, think of it as me coming back a week from now. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that."

There's a long, tense moment, and then Cas deflates and nods. "If that is what you truly want. Even if it causes me pain to be parted from you."

And Dean knows, he _knows_ that Cas is under a spell, and it's making him say these cheesy, awful things, but he still feels the tips of his ears turn red.

* * *

Dean crashes at a nearby motel for the week. It sucks. The sheets are rough and smell of mothballs, and the pillow and mattress are both lumpy. The shower at least has decent water pressure, even though it's got nothing on the shower in the bunker.

Sam calls him briefly to check on him the first two nights. Then, on the third, he's suddenly wanting to _talk_.

"Cas got cursed two weeks ago," he says, "and you just noticed this Friday."

Dean clenches his jaw. It has admittedly been bothering him, how he could have missed Cas' behavior changing like that. "Maybe it took a while to work."

"Not according to my research."

"You mean you reading Cas' colors."

"He could have been resisting it subconsciously," Sam says, ignoring Dean's comment. "That would explain why he didn't climb into your bed sooner. But it must have been having some effect on him, and you didn't notice."

What the hell? Is Sam trying to make him take the blame for all this? "Neither did you."

"That's my point, Dean," Sam stresses. "Neither one of us noticed that Cas was suddenly in love with you."

"In love is maybe a little strong-"

"And maybe the reason we didn't notice," Sam continues pointedly, "was because it wasn't all that different from the way Cas normally acts around you."

"I'm hanging up now," Dean informs Sam.

"Dean-"

Dean ignores him and hangs up with vindictive satisfaction. What the hell is Sam trying to pull here? There's no way he's right, he has to be joking. Trying to play some mind game with Dean to get back at him for telling him the tooth fairy wasn't real or something.

Yeah. That has to be it.

Sam tries to call again a couple of times before giving up. Dean puts his ridiculous notion of Cas being in love with him out of his mind, except he doesn't, at all. In fact, he can't stop thinking about it.

It wouldn't make any sense, would it? Cas has always, as far as Dean knows, liked women. There was Meg, that reaper, and that Daphne chick he married when he had amnesia. They were all women (or close enough), and Dean is not. Therefore, Cas can't be in love with him.

... Of course, it's not exactly as if angels think so much in terms of gender. Raphael sure didn't seem to mind going from a male vessel to a female one. But Cas is different, right? And he isn't even an angel anymore.

Besides, even if he does like dudes as well as chicks, there's still no way he'd go for Dean. He knows him too well, has seen too much of him at his ugliest.

As Dean runs through every possible reason why there's no way Cas could ever be in love with him, it becomes harder and harder to ignore the pain it causes him. Thinking about how Cas is only cursed, it's not permanent or even real, makes his chest feel hollow and his stomach twist uncomfortably.

So Cas is definitely not in love with him. But Dean is starting to think that he might be in love with Cas.

At the end of his week in exile, Dean has psyched himself out so badly, he's considering just turning tail and running in the other direction rather than going back to the bunker. Pretty much only the thought of Sam's epic told-you-so bitchface if he ever found out how freaked out Dean's been this past week is stopping him.

That, and he's kind of worried about Cas. Whatever, friends worry about friends all the time. He's allowed some concern.

* * *

The bunker is eerily silent when Dean arrives. He puts his bag down by the door and, hand poised to grab the gun tucked into his waistband if necessary, slowly makes his way down the stairs.

After looking around the foyer, kitchen and briefing room, Dean finds Cas by himself in the library, sitting slumped over in an arm chair in the corner.

"Sam went out," he says, without looking up. The pointed way he keeps his head down is kind of freaking Dean out, to be honest. Is Cas really this embarrassed about what happened? Or worse, is he disgusted by the way he touched Dean, does he feel like Dean somehow took advantage of him? "He said he wanted to give us space to talk."

"Oh." Dean is going to kill his brother. "You know we don't have to, right?"

Finally Cas looks up, and for one moment Dean is terrified that the curse is still in effect, before he realizes that no, the intensity is at a normal (for Cas) level. His eyes are just really expressive. Could Dean really be blamed for not noticing the difference between normal Cas and cursed Cas right away?

"Perhaps not, but I think we should." Cas stands up, still keeping his eyes locked on Dean's, and Dean feels momentarily like someone punched the breath out of him. He'd forgotten how blue Cas' eyes are.

But he's not at all interested in hearing Cas explain how the curse messed with his head, made him feel things that weren't really there, so he takes a step back. "I don't think so."

He turns to leave but Cas grabs his arm and spins him back around. He looks pissed - more than that, genuinely furious, but the fury is undercut by the obvious hurt reflecting in his eyes.

"Do not run away from me," he warns.

"Wasn't running-"

"This may be uncomfortable for you to hear," Cas cuts in furiously, "but you at least owe me the basic courtesy of listening to what I have to say. All the years we've been friends, I have earned that much consideration."

It's a dirty trick for Cas to pull, guilt tripping him like this, but what's worse is that it's working. Plus, the warmth of Cas' hand still grasping Dean's arm is making it hard for him to tear himself away. It's nothing like the affectionate, eager way Cas touched him last week, but it's still Cas, touching him.

"I need you to understand," Cas says, "what that curse did to me."

"It made you fall in love with me," Dean concludes for him. "I get it, I'm not gonna go reading into anything that isn't there."

Cas frowns, and his grip on Dean's arm loosens, though he doesn't let go. "The curse would have made me fall in love with you, regardless of how I felt for you before," he agrees. "But as it stood, all it did was loosen my inhibitions."

Dean is pretty sure his brain's just blown a fuse. There's no way he heard Cas right. "What?"

"I am sorry that you had to find out this way," Cas continues, seemingly oblivious to the way he just took Dean's world and turned it on its head. "But I am not sorry for loving you."

There's really only one way for Dean to respond to something like that. Namely, by backing Cas up against the wall and kissing him until they're both out of breath. For one split second, Cas freezes against him and Dean worries that he just made some terrible mistake, but then their positions are suddenly reversed and Cas is the one who's got _him_ pinned against the wall, his thigh pressing between Dean's legs, both hands clawing at his arms, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

Dean pulls away first, because his head is starting to spin and it's starting to feel scarily like he's about to pass out just from a really intense kiss, which would really kill the mood. Cas dives for his neck, and Dean is suddenly and sharply reminded of the last time he did that, just a little over a week ago.

"This is all you, right?" he asks, because now he needs to make sure. "This isn't some left-over thing from the curse?"

"The curse is gone," Cas reassures him, before sucking at the spot just above Dean's collarbone that makes him weak in the knees. "Sam cast another detection spell this morning to make sure of that."

"Good," Dean mutters distractedly, because how is he supposed to focus when Cas is doing _that_ with his mouth? Then Cas' comment actually registers, and Dean thinks about his brother, how he's going to react to all this. "Fuck."

"Hm?" Cas inquires, still sucking what will probably turn into an impressive hickey onto Dean's skin.

"I just realized, Sam was totally right about us. He's going to be insufferable now."


	30. Causing Trouble in the Dark

**A/N:** 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #13 - Handcuffed together

holy crap i actually finished this

Title taken from C'mon by Ke$ha because I love Ke$ha and why not.

* * *

**Causing Trouble in the Dark**

* * *

"Do you think you could loosen these cuffs?"

Castiel glared into his lap, resolutely ignoring the criminal sitting next to him. Maybe if he ignored him, he would stop talking.

"Just a little bit?" Winchester needled. "I think it's cutting off the circulation to my hand."

"If I loosen them, you will attempt to escape," Castiel replied through ground teeth. "I am not willing to take that risk."

Winchester yanked his cuffed hand to the side, causing Castiel's cuffed hand to drop from where it was propped underneath his chin.

"Stop that," Castiel hissed, finally looking up. Winchester was looking back at him with a self-satisfied grin, all too pleased to have caught his attention. Castiel briefly entertained a fantasy of removing one of his socks and stuffing it in Winchester's mouth. It wouldn't shut him up for long, but those few moments would no doubt be blissful.

"Why'd you cuff yourself to me, anyway?" Winchester asked. "Wouldn't it have been easier to cuff me to, I don't know, pretty much anything else?"

Castiel had never meant to cuff himself to a known criminal. Especially not with his back-up still half an hour away. Winchester had resisted when Castiel had not expected him to (what kind of a man struggles at gunpoint?), and Castiel had panicked. But he was not about to give Winchester the satisfaction of admitting that out loud.

"How much do you get paid, anyway?" Winchester asked. "Thirty thousand a year? Thirty five?"

"That's none of your business," Castiel snapped.

"Can't be enough," Winchester continued. "Not with all the hours of paperwork and all the late nights, not to mention the stress of it."

"Most of which has been caused by you in the past seven months," Castiel couldn't resist pointing out.

Winchester held up his free hand in a placating gesture. "I'm a criminal, dude, it's my job to cause you stress. It should be the government's job to pay you enough to wanna put up with it."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "Is this your attempt at bribing me into letting you go?"

"Shoot," Winchester laughed. "You caught me."

"I won't accept any bribe."

"Come on, you haven't even heard my offer!"

Castiel glowered at the other man. He couldn't help but find it insulting that Winchester would attempt to bribe him, even if he was a criminal. His opinion of Castiel could not be high if he expected him to break the law for a quick extra buck.

"Shouldn't have brought it up," Winchester said, his tone something approaching regretful, if mockingly so.

"No," Castiel agreed, "you shouldn't have."

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"You can stay quiet."

And for the next, blissful five minutes, Winchester did just that. He was so quiet, in fact, that Castiel couldn't resist peeking at him from the corner of his eye, just to make sure he was still awake. His eyes were closed, so Castiel dared to turn his head. Winchester was leaning against the wall, his chest rising and falling slowly. By all appearances he looked to be in deep sleep. Castiel had no doubt this was not the case, but while his eyes were shut, at least he was free to examine him without judgment.

He didn't look much like a hardened criminal. Then again, Castiel had been on the force for ten years, and he knew just how deceiving appearances could be. Still, he couldn't remember ever arresting anyone who looked quite so… pretty. It was a strange thing to think about a grown man, but there was something about his features that could only be described as beautiful. The long eyelashes that fanned across his cheeks when he closed his eyes, the freckles dusted over the bridge of a perfectly shaped nose. Those plush lips, pink and just slightly swollen, as if they'd just been-

Castiel shook himself, horrified. What was he doing? Was he so starved for sexual attention that he would fantasize about any handsome man he saw? Even worse, a man he had just arrested, a man he had spent months on end chasing. Had his unwilling year-long abstinence turned him so depraved?

Then Winchester opened his eyes and Castiel realized that he still had not looked away. That he had drifted closer to the other man, so close that he was hovering less than three inches away from him. Castiel scrambled to come up with some explanation for his behavior, but all he could think was: Winchester had beautiful green eyes.

"Huh," Winchester muttered and licked his lips, successfully drawing Castiel's gaze from his eyes. "Well, that's one way to pass the time."

And then he straightened and swung his leg across Castiel's lap, so that he was straddling him, pressing against him in a very distressing manner. Castiel only had a split second to worry about Winchester feeling his rapidly hardening cock through his pants, before another disaster presented itself.

Namely, Winchester's pink, slightly swollen, and as it turned out incredibly soft, lips pressing against his. Castiel raised his free hand, meaning to push him away. Somehow, that turned into grabbing Winchester's shirt and pulling him even closer, and now there was no avoiding the fact that Winchester knew that he was hard. At least it seemed he wasn't the only one, and the feel of Winchester's hardening bulge pressing against his caused Castiel to groan in a way he hadn't done in far too long. Winchester seized the opportunity presented to him and thrust his tongue inside Castiel's mouth, all hunger and no finesse.

But Castiel didn't care about finesse just then, didn't care about anything but getting Dean – and he had to call him Dean now, he couldn't very well refer to someone he was all but dry-humping by his last name – closer. Their kiss was more a fight than anything loving or affectionate, but it was so delicious. All that energy, all that anger, finally getting some sort of outlet.

Then Castiel raised his other hand, in an attempt to grab Dean by the shoulder, and it stopped short. Because he was still handcuffed to Dean.

Castiel pulled away, leaving both of them gasping for air. "We shouldn't – I shouldn't-"

"Fuck shouldn't," Dean panted.

"This is immoral, not to mention illegal-"

"Who's going to know?"

"There are other officers on the way," Castiel reminded him.

"This won't take long," Dean said, smirking against Castiel's lips. "Come on, Officer. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty backed up. I'm betting it's been a while since you saw any action that wasn't your right hand." Castiel would be deeply insulted if it weren't so true. "We'll be ten minutes, tops."

"You certainly know how to seduce a man," Castiel deadpanned. "I thought the general rule was to promise you would be last longer."

"Extreme circumstances." Dean ground down, and the sudden bolt of lust that shot through Castiel like lightning pretty much decided his fate. "You can't tell me you don't want this."

Castiel really couldn't, so in response, he grabbed Dean by the hair on back of his head and tugged him into another hungry, open-mouthed kiss. Judging by Dean's stuttered moan, he did not object to the rough treatment.

They moved together, Dean undulating his hips in Castiel's lap, Castiel pulling and pushing when he got impatient, and finally, controlling the rhythm all together. Dean's free hand moved to grasp Castiel by the shoulder.

"Tell me, Officer," he muttered between kisses, "I didn't catch your name."

"Cas- Castiel," Castiel stuttered, as in that moment, Dean leaned down and bit his earlobe.

"Hmm." Dean raised his head again, kept his eyes level with Castiel's. "I like it. Cas."

Castiel scoffed. "Castiel," he corrected.

"I'm screwing you, I get to call you a nickname," Dean muttered, voice amused. "Sorry. I don't make the rules, I just follow them."

"That-" Castiel's breath hitched as Dean changed his angle, suddenly pressing their cocks even closer – as close as they could be through four layers of fabric. "That would be a first."

Dean laughed breathlessly. "Guess so." His hand moved up, cupping the side of Castiel's face. "Hey, Cas? Real sorry about this, by the way."

Before Castiel could even process those words, Dean's grip on his head tightened and then his head was being knocked against the wall behind him. His vision began to blur and, to his horror, slip away into darkness.

"Stop," he muttered, tongue thick and heavy, and then he knew no more.

* * *

In the end, Castiel escaped from the whole ordeal with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and a bump on his head. No one suspected, or had any reason to suspect, how Dean had made his escape. Castiel certainly wasn't going to offer that information first hand. Especially considering that he had only just managed to convince Captain Shurley to let him stay on the case. If anyone was going to bring Dean Winchester to justice, it would be him.

Castiel did not discover how lucky he had been until two days after the whole ordeal, when he happened to put his hand in his pocket and discovered a note he did not remember being there before. It was a small, worn piece of paper and on it, someone had hurriedly scrawled:

_Next time, I'll bring the handcuffs. _

_\- D_


End file.
